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Stepping Stones 



OR 



Aids and Aims to a Successful Life 



A BOOK of ENCOURAGEMENT, INSPIRATION and COMFORT 

'ON 

LIFE'S JOURNEY FROM THE CRADLE TO THE GRAVE 

.Beginning with Birth, it goes on down through Childhood, Youth, Middle Age, Old 

Age, until finally ending with Death. Every phase of Life, every trait of 

Character, Conduct, Habit and Disposition is pictured in 

language that will awaken the best in everyone. 

A VOLUME OF TREASURE MORE PRICELESS THAN VIRGIN GOLD 

The sorrows and pain, or stones, in Life's pathway are made into easy steps up that 
sweet path of Life that leads to success. It dispels gloom, soothes troubles 
and by its stern, frank, excellent wisdom teaches courage and suc- 
cess and inspires the reader to nobler and higher living. 

GOLDEN THOUGHTS ON OVER ONE HUNDRED SUBJECTS 

INCLUDING COURAGE, HONESTY, SUCCESS, MOTHER, HOME, HEAVEN, 
FAITH, HOPE, CHARITY, FRIENDSHIP, TRUTH, SORROW, ADVERSITY, 
LOVE, COURTSHIP, MARRIAGE, ENERGY, ECONOMY, INTEGRITY, SELF- 
HELP, ASSOCIATES, CHARACTER, KINDNESS, DOING GOOD, ETC., ETC. 

Illustrated with Colored Plates and. Half-tone Engravings 

EDITED BY 

T. L. HAINES and L. W. YAGGY 




CCI.A300070 










The subject-matter of this book, Success and Hap- 
piness, has been the consideration of every eminent pen^ 
fc^V from the day of Solomon to the present. To say any 
'^/ thing strictly new would be impossible ; nor would we 
presume that our knowledge and experience would be 
as valuable as the maxims of the wise and the sublime 
truths which have become a part of the standard litera- 
ture. The best, therefore, that any one can expect to 
do is to recombine the experience of the past, and 
compile such thoughts and extracts as have chimed ii? 
with the testimony of earnest and aspiring minds, and 
offer them in a novel and fascinating form In the ^^ 
0i the poet : 






"We have gathered posies from other men's fioweis, 
Nothing but the thread that binds them is ours/' 

In life there is a Royal Path. Alas ! that so many 

^ not being urged to seek life's prizes, fail to find them. 

It is hoped that this book shall be a counselor to those 

f who have become indifferent to life's purposes ; a comfort 

/ to those who have long traveled on this Royal Path ; 

and if it shall serve to awaken the slumbering genius 

within the youth, stimulate and impel them to noble 

thoughts and actions, and lead thern on to honor, success 

and happiness, the authors will consider themselves amply 

repaid for their labor. 




Life is before you ! from the fated road 
You cannot turn ; then take ye up the bar), 
Not yours to tread or leave the unknown way, 
Ye must go o'er it, meet ye what ye may. 
Gird up your souls within you to the deed, 
Angels and feilow-spirits bid you speed !" 

—Butler 




CA 





% 





Youth .Y-". 42 

Home 49 

Family Worship 59 

Home Influence 64 

Home Amusements 71 

To Young Men 75 

To Young Women 83 

Daughter and Sister 91 

Associates 96 

-Influence 103 

Habit 105 

Company iii 

Force of Character 114 

Integrity 119 

Poor Boys and Eminence 123 

Occupation 130 

Employment 135 

True Greatness 138 

Idleness 140 

Education 145 

Opportunity 151 

Spare Moments 1 54 

Books 158 

Reading 165 

Perseverance 174 

Pluck 182 

Self Reliance. 184 




Labor .189 

Energy ff^% f 

Luck and Pluck sor 

Purpose and Will 21a 

Courage .217 

Little Things 223 

Economy 231 

Farm Life 237 

Success .242 

Industry 250 

Honesty 254 

Character 259 

Principle and Right 26, 

Value^j; Reputatio^'. . ^.,. . . 1 .2b 
Fame .... .^,^^^^^^^0%^^,.^'^^ 

Ambition 273 

Avarice 275 

Gambling 277 

Temper 282 

Anger , . . . 286 

Obstinacy 292 

Hypocrisy 295 

Fretting and Grumbling 299 

Fault Finding 305 

Envy 310 

Slander 315 

Vanity 320 

Pride 322 

Fops and Dandies 329 

Fashion 333 

Dress 340 





Church Dress 347 

Manners 349 

The True Gentleman 357 

Wit 362 

Truth 3^5 

Judgment 37° 

Patience 373 

Contentment 378 

Cheerfulness 3S4 

Happiness 39^ 

Gratitude 393 

Hope 39^ 

Charity 401 

Kindness. 405 

Friendship 411 

Courtship 416 

Flirting 422 

Bachelors 425 

Influence of Matrimony 428 

Advantage of Matrimony , . . 436 
Young Men and Matrimony. .439 
Young Ladies and Matrimony. 446 

Love . .453 

Matrimony , 461 

The Conjugal Relation 468 

Husband and Wife 474 



Joy 483 

Beauty 486 

Music 493 

Honor 500 

Genius and Talent 502 

Thinkers 507 

Benefactors or Malefactors. .513 

Trials of Life 518 

Sickness 522 

Tears 525 

Sorrow 528 

Sorrowing for the Dead . . . .535 

Adversity 539 

Debt 543 

Failure 54^ 

Despair 55i 

Stepping-stones 553 

Prayer 55^ 

There is a God 561 

The Bible 5^4 

Religion 57i 

Doing Good 574 

Well Doing sSc 

Old Age • 592 

Death 59^ 



^•'s 

//v" 






STEPPING STONES 



OR 



AIDS TO A SUCCESSFUL LIFE 



iff. 




We point to two ways in life, and if the young man 
and maiden, whose feet are Hngering- in soft green 
meadows and flowery paths, will consider these two 
ways soberly and earnestly, before moving onward, 
and choose the one that truth and reason tell them 
leads to honor, success and happiness, they have vtm^ 
""Wisely chosen the ^' Royal Path of Life/^^^^t&^^&t^J 
way is too well known to need description. It is a 
sad thing, after the lapse of twenty years, to find our- 
selves amid ruined hopes ; — to sit down with folded 
hands and say, ''Thus far life has been a failure"! 
Yet, to how many is this the wretched summing up 
at the end of a single score of years from the time 
that reason takes the helm ! Alas ! that so few who 
start wrong, ever succeed in finding the ''Royal 
Path"; life proving, even to its last burdened years a 
millstone about the neck. 






LIFE 



Dear reader, life is a ''Royal Path," and to you it 
shall be a millstone about your neck, or a diadem on 
your brow. Decide at once upon a noble purpose, 
then take it up bravely, bear it off joyfully, lay it down 
triumphantly. Your greatest inheritance is a purpose 
in pursuit of which you will find employment and hap- 
piness, for 

"The busy world shoves angrily aside 
The man who stands with arms akimbo set 
Until occasion tells him what to do ; 
And he who waits to have his task marked out 
Shall die and leave his errand unfulfilled." 

Life is not mean — it is grand. If it is mean to any, 
he makes it so. God made it glorious. Its channel 
He paved with diamonds. Its banks He fringed with 
flowers. He overarched it with stars. Around it He 
spread the glory of the physical universe — suns, moons, 
worlds, constellations, systems — all that is magnificent 
in motion, sublime in magnitude, and grand in order 
and obedience. God would not have attended life with 
this broad march of grandeur, if it did not mean some- 
thing. He would not have descended to the blade 
of grass, the dew-drop, and the dust-atom, if every 
moment of life were not a letter to spell out some word 
that should bear the burden of a thought. How much 
life means, words refuse to tell, because they can not. 
The very doorway of life is hung around with flowery 
emblems, to indicate that it is for some purpose. Th^ 
mystery of our being, the necessity of action, the rela- 
tion of cause to effect, the dependence of one thing 
upon another, the mutual influence and affinity of all 





^^T 









A 




LIFE. 



things, assure us that Hfe is for a purpose to which 
every outward thing doth point. 

The trees with leaves "Hke a shield or like a sword" 
wage vigorous warfare with the elements. They bend 
under the wind, make music of it, then stand up again 
and grow more stalwartly straight up toward the heart 
of the heavens..-; A man is to learn of the oak, and 
cling to his pl^ris'Ss^rt to its leaves till pushed off by 
new oijes; and be as tenacious of life, when lopt, send- 
ing up branches straight as the old trunk, and when 
cut off, sending up a brood of young oaks, crowning 
the stump with vigorous defenders. He that floats 
lazily down the stream, in pursuit of something borne 
along by the same current, will find himself indeed 
moved forward; but unless he lays his hand to the oar, 
and increases his speed by his own labor, must be 
always at the same distance from that which he is fol- 
lowing. In our voyage of life we must not cirz/l but 
s^eer. 

Every youth should form, at the outset of his career, 
the solemn purpose to make the most and the best of 
the powers which God has given him, and to turn to 
the best possible account every outward advantage 
within his reach. This purpose must carry with it the 
assent of the reason, the approval of the conscience, 
the sober judgment of the intellect. It should then 
embody within itself whatever is vehement in desire, 
inspiring in hope, thrilling in enthusiasm and intense in 
desperate resolve. Such a plan of life will save him 
from many a damaging contest with temptation. It 
will regulate his sports and recreations. It will go 

CM 



m 




''■^ ^1£/-^ ^ 

















LIFE. 



with him by day to trample under foot the allurements 
of pleasure. It will hold his eyes waking as he toils 
by the evening lamp. It will watch over his slumbers 
to jog him at the appointed hour, and summon him to 
the cheerful duties of his chosen pursuit. Those who 
labor and study under the inspiration of such a pur- 
pose, will soon soar out of sight of those who barely 
allow themselves to be carried along by the momen- 
tum of the machinery to which they are attached. 

Many pass through life, without even a conscious- 
ness of where they are, and what they are doing. 
They gaze on whatever lies directly before them, **in 
fond amusement lost." Human life is a watchtower. 
It is the clear purpose of God that every one — the 
young especially — should take their stand on this 
tower. Look, listen, learn, wherever you go, wherever 
you tarry. Something is always transpiring to reward 
your attention. Let your eyes and ears be always 
open, and you will often observe in the slightest inci- 
dents, materials of advantage and means of personal 
improvement. 

In nothing is childhood more strongly distinguished 
from manhood than in this, that the child has no pur- 
pose, no plan of life, no will by which his energies are 
directed. He lives, in a great measure, to enjoy the 
passing scene, and to find his happiness in those agree- 
able consciousnesses which from hour to hour come to 
him by chance. If his life is governed by a plan, a 
purpose, it is the purpose of another — not his own. 
The man has his own purpose, his own plan, his own 
life and aim. The sorrowful experience of multitudes 





( 



LIFE. 



in this respect is that they are never men, but children 
all their days. Think out your work, then work out 
your thought. No one can pursue a worthy object, 
with all the powers of his mind, and yet make his life 
a failure. A man may work in the dark, yet one day 
light shall arise upon his labor ; and though he may 
ru^ver, with his own lips, declare the victory complete, 
s^^^^ay others will behold in his life-work the traces 
c^ a%reat and thinking mind. 

Take life like a man. Take it just as though it 
was — as it is — an earnest, vital, essential affair. Take 
it just as though you personally were born to the task 
of performing a merry part in it — as though the world 
had waited for your coming. Take it as though it was 
a grand opportunity to do and to achieve, to carry 
forward great and good schemes ; to help and cheer 
pg suffering, weary, it may be a heart-broken, brother. \?\ 
The fact is, life is undervalued by a great majority of ^ 
mankind. It is not made half as much of as should be 
the case. Now and then a man stands aside from the 
crowd, labors earnestly, steadfastly, confidently, and 
straightway becomes famous for wisdom, intellect, 
skill, greatness of some sort. The world wonders, i^% 
admires, idolizes ; and yet it only illustrates what each \:^-; 
may do if he takes hold of life with a purpose. One 
way is right to go ; the hero sees it and moves on that 
aim and has the world under him for foot and support. 
His approbation is honor, his dissent infamy. Man was 
sent into the world to be a growing and exhaustless 
force. The world was spread out around him to be 
seized and conquered. Realms of infinite truth burst 



X^, 





:> 



open above him, inviting- him to tread those shining 
coasts along- which Newton dropped his plummet and 
Herschel sailed, — a Columbus of the skies. Some, 
because they have once or twice met with rebuffs, sink 
in discouragement. Such should know, that our own 
errors may often teach us more than the grave pre- 
cepts of others. We counsel the young man never 
to despair. If he can make nothing by any work that 
presents itself now, he can at least make himself; or 
what is equivalent, he can save himself from the sure 
death of a pusillanimous, halting, irresolute spirit. 
Never be cast down by misfortunes. If a spider break 
his web, over and over he will mend it again. And 
do not you fall behind the very insect on your walls. 
If the sun is going down look up to the stars; if earth 
is dark, keep your eye on heaven. With the presence 
and promise of God, we can bear up under any thing ; 
and should press on, and never falter or fear. 

It is my firm conviction that man has only himself 
to blame if his life appears to him at any time void of 
interest and of pleasure. Man may make life what he 
pleases and give it as much worth, both for himself 
and others, as he has energy for. Over his moral 
and intellectual being his sway is complete. 

The first great mistake that men fall into is that 
they do not use integrity and truth and good sense 
in judging of what they are fit for. They take the 
things that they want and not the things that they 
deserve. They aspire after things that are pleasing 
to their ambition, and not after things to which they 
are adapted by their capacity. And when a man 








-^-^^ 



S0^ 



LIFE. 




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^ 



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brought into as sphere of his ambition for which he 
has not the requisite powers, and where he is goaded 
on every side in the discharge of his duties, his tempt- 
ation is at once to make up by fraud and appearance 
that which he lacks in reahty. Men are seen going 
y-s^mm^^-^ots to fortune; and a poor business many of 
^ them make of it. Oftentimes they lose their way^ , 
and when they d^. not, they find so many hills'^and" 
^ valleys, so many swells and depressions, so many ris- 
ings and fallings, so many ups and downs, that though 
by an air-line the distance might be shorter, in reality 
the distance is greater than by the lawful route ; and 
when they come back they are ragged and poor and 
mean. There is a great deal of going across-lots to 
make a beggar of a man's self in this world. Whereas, 
the old-fashioned homely law that the man who was tc 
^)^d^- Establish himself in life must take time to lay the foun^ 
dations of reality, and gradually '^inrd steadily build- 
thereon, holds good yet. Though you slur it over, 
and cover it up with fantasies, and find it almost impos- 
sible to believe it, it is so. 

Rely not upon others ; but let there be in your own 
bosom a calm, deep, decided, and all-pervading prin- 
ciple. Look first, midst, and last to God, to aid you 
in the great task before you ; and then plant your foot 
on the right. Let others live as they please, — tainted 
by low tastes, debasing passions, a moral putrefaction. 
Be you the salt of the earth ; incorrupt in your deeds, 
in your inmost thoughts and feelings. Nay more, 
incorruptible, like virtue herself; your manners blame- 
less ; your views of duty, not narrow, false and destruc- 






% 




tive, but a savor of life to all around you. Let your 
speech be always with grace, seasoned with the salt oi 
truth, honor, manliness and benevolence. Wait not 
for the lash of guilt to scourge you to the path of God 
and heaven. Be of the prudent who forsee the evil 
and hide themselves from it; and not of the simple, 
who pass on and are punished. Life, to youth, is a 
fairy tale just opened ; to old age, a tale read through, 
ending in death. Be wise in time, that you may be 
happy in eternity. 



-^^ 



Man is bold — woman is beautiful. Man is coura- 
geous — woman is timid. Man labors in the field — 
woman at home. Man talks to persuade — woman 
to please. Man has a daring heart — woman a ten- 
der, loving one. Man has power — woman taste. Man 
has justice — woman mercy. Man has strength — 
woman love ; while man combats with the enemy, 
struggles with the world, woman is waiting to prepare 
his repast and sweeten his existence. He has crosses, 
and the partner of his couch is there to soften them ; 
his days may be sad and troubled, but in the chaste 
arms of his wife he finds comfort and repose. Without 
woman, man would be rude, gross, solitary. Woman 
spreads around him the flowers of existence, as the 
creepers of the forests, which decorate the trunks of 
sturdy oaks with their perfumed garlands. Finally, the 




V\ 



,V 






I 



V I 




Christian pair live and die united ; together they rear 
the fruits of their union ; in the dust they He side by 
side ; and they are reunited beyond the Hmits of the 
tomb. 

Man has his strength and the exercise of his power; 
he is busy, goes about, thinks, looks forward to the 
future, and finds consolation in it; but woman stays 
at home, remains face to face with her sorrow, from 
which nothing distracts her ; she descends to the very 
depths of the abyss it has opened, measures it, and 
often fills it with her vows and tears. To feel, tc 
love, to suffer, to devote herself, will always be the text 
of the life of v/oman. Man has a precise and distinct 
language, the words being luminous speech. Woman 
possesses a peculiarly musical and magical language, 
interspersing the words with song. Woman is affec- 
i^anate and suffers ; she is constantly in need of soiirfe> ^ 
^4:hing to lean upon, like the honeysuckle up^^the tree 
or fence. Man is attached to the fireside by his 
affection for woman, and the happiness it gives him to 
protect and support her. Superior and inferior to man, 
humiliated by the heavy hand of nature, but at the 
same time inspired by intuitions of a higher order than 
man can ever experience, she has fascinated him, inno- 
cently bewitched him forever. And man has remained 
enchanted by the spell. Women are generally better 
creatures than men. Perhaps they have, taken univer- 
sally, weaker appetites and weaker intellects, but they 






have much strongrer affections. A man with a bad 
heart has been sometimes saved by a strong head; 
but a corrupt woman is lost forever. 



i?^-! 



^BL 



16 



MAN AND WOMAN. 




d^r- 



r-C> 






One has well said: "We will say nothing- of the 
manner in which that sex usually conduct an argument ; 
but the hituitive judginents of women are often more to 
be relied upon than the conclusions which we reach by 
an elaborate process of reasoning. No man that has 
an intelligent wife, or who is accustomed to the society 
of educated women, will dispute this. Times withou"" 
number, you must have known them decide questions 
on the instant, and with unerring accuracy, which you 
had been poring over for hours, perhaps with no other 
result than to find yourself getting deeper and deeper 
into the tangled maze of doubts and difficulties. It 
were hardly generous to allege that they achieve these 
feats less by reasoning than by a sort of sagacity which 
approximates to the sure instinct of the animal races ; 
and yet, there seems to be some ground for the remark 
of a witty French writer, that, when a man has toiled 
step by step up a flight of stairs, he will be sure to find 
a woman at the top ; but she will not be able to tell 
how she got there. How she got there, however, is of 
little moment." 

It is peculiar with what a degree of tact woman will 
determine whether a man is honest or not. She cannot 
give you the reason for such an opinion, only that she 
does not like the looks of the man, and feels that he is 
dishonest. A servant comes for employment, she looks 
him in the face and says he is dishonest. He gives 
good references, and you employ him ; he robs you] — 
you may be quite sure he will do that. Years after, 
another man comes ; the same lady looks him in the 
face, and says he, too, is not honest; she says so, again, 




5^ 




u 



A 



MAN AND WOMAN. 17 

fresh from her mere insight ; but you, also, say he is not 
honest. You say, I remember I had a servant with just 
the same look about him, three years ago, and he 
robbed me. This is one great distinction of the female ,.. 

intellect ; it walks directly and unconsciously, by more ( i / 

delicate insight and a more refined and a more trusted /'; 

intuition, to an end to which men's minds grope care- 
fully and ploddingly along. Women have exercised a 
most beneficial influence in softening the hard and un- 
truthful outline which knowledge is apt to assume in the 

^r hands of direct scientific observers and experimenters ; 

they have prevented the casting aside of a mass of most 
valuable truth, which is too fine to be caught in the 

i^^ - material sieve, and eludes the closest questioning of the 
microscope and the test-glass ; which is allied with our 
passions, our feelings ; and especially holds the fine 
boundary-line where mind and matter, sense and spirit, 
wave their floating and undistinguishable boundaries, 
and exercise their complex action and reaction. 

|M\ When a woman is possessed of a high degree of tact, 

she sees, as by a kind of second sight, when any little 
emergency is likely to occur, or when, to use a more 
familiar expression, things do not seem to go right. 
She is thus aware of any sudden turn in conversation, t>| 

and prepared for what it may lead to, but above all, f\ 

I " she can penetrate into the state of mind of those she is /^: 

ij. placed in contact with, so as to detect the gathering 

gloom upon another's brow, before the mental storm 
shall have reached any formidable height; to know 
when the tone of voice has altered ; when any unwel- 
come thought shall have presented itself, and when the 



i\ 






pulse of feelln<:^ is beatin^^ hlg-her or lower in conse- 
quence of some apparently trifling circumstance. In 
such and innumerable other instances of much the 
same character, woman, with her tact, will notice 
clearly the fluctuations which constantly change the 
feeling of social life, and she can change the current 
of feeling suddenly and in such a way that no one 
detects her ; thus, by the power which her nature 
gives her, she saves society the pain and annoyance 
which arise very frequently from trifles, or the mis- 
management of somie one possessing less tact and 
social adaptation. 

Man is the creature of interest and ambition. His 
nature leads him forth into the struggle and bustle of 
the world. Love is but the embellishment of his early 
life, or a song piped in the intervals of the acts. He 
seeks for fame, for fortune, for space in the world's 
thought, and dominion over his fellow-men. But a 
woman's whole life is the history of the affections. The 
heart is her world ; it is there her ambition strives for 
empire ; it is there her avarice seeks for hidden treas- 
ures. She sends forth her sympathies on adventure ; 
she embarks her whole soul in the traffic of affection ; 
and if shipwrecked, her case is hopeless, for it is the 
bankruptcy of the heart. 

To a man, the disappointment of love may occasion 
some bitter pangs ; it wounds some feelings of ten- 
derness ; it blasts some prospects of felicity ; but he 
h an active being ; he may dissipate his thoughts in 
the whirl of varied occupation, or may plunge intc 
uhe tide of pleasure ; or, if the scene of disappoint- 






S^-/ 





ment be too full of painful associations, he can shift 
his abode at will, and taking-, as it were, the wing-s of 
the morning, can "fly to the uttermost parts of the 
earth, and be at rest." 

We find man the cap-stone of the climax of para- 
doxes ; a complex budget of contradictions ; a hete- 
rogeneous compound of good and evil ; the noblest 
work of God, bespattered by Lucifer; an immortal 
being, cleaving to things not eternal ; a rational being, 
violating reason ; an animal with discretion, glutting, 
instead of prudently feeding appetite ; an original, 
harmonious compact, violating order and reveling in 
confusion. Man is immortal without realizing it ; ra- 
tional, but often deaf to reason ; a combination of 
noble powers, waging civil war, robbing, instead of 
aiding each other ; yet, like the Siamese twins, com- 
pelled to remain in the same apartment. ^f0^ 

The following shows the love, tenderness, and forti- 
tude of woman. The letter, which was bedimmed 
with tears, was written before the husband was aware 
that death was fixing its grasp upon the lovely com- 
panion, and laid in a book which he was wont to peruse: 

**When this shall reach your eyes, dear G — , some 
day when you are turning over the relics of the past, I 
shall have passed away forever, and the cold white 
stone will be keeping its lonely watch over lips you 
have so often pressed, and the sod will be growing 
green that shall hide forever from your sight the dust 
of one who has so often nestled close to your warm 
heart. For many long and sleepless nights, when all 
my thoughts were at rest, I have wrestled with the 





'^Z 



MAN AND WOxVAN. 



I 



f ; 




)-, 






^..^:? 



consciousness of approaching- death, until at last it W 
forced itself on my mind. Although to you and "c 
others it might now seem but the nervous imagination 
of a girl, yet, dear G — , it is so! Many weary hours 
have I passed in the endeavor to reconcile myself to 
leaving you, whom I love so well, and this bright world 
of sunshine and beauty ; and hard indeed is it to strug- 
g-le on silently and alone, with the sure conviction that 
I am about to leave forever and g-o down alone into the 
dark valley. 'But I know in whom I have trusted,' 
and leaning upon His arm, 'I fear no evil.' Don't 
blame me for keeping even all this from you. How 
could I subject you, of all others, to such a sorrow as I 
feel at parting, when time will soon make it apparent 
to you ? I could have wished to live, if only to be at 
your side when your time shall come, and pillowing 
your head upon my breast, wipe the death damps from 
your brow, and commend your departing spirit to its 
Maker's presence, embalmed in woman's holiest prayer. 
But it is not to be so ; and I submit. Yours is the 
privilege of watching, through long and dreary nights, 
for the spirit's final flight, and of transferring my sink- 
ing head from your breast to my Savior's bosom! 
And you shall share my last thought, the last faint 
pressure of my hand, and the last feeble kiss shall be 
yours ; and even when flesh and heart shall have failed 
me, my eye shall rest on yours until glazed by death ; 
and our spirits shall hold one fast communion, until 
gently fading from my view, the last of earth, you 
shall mingle with the first bright glimpses of the 
unfading glories of that better world, where partings 




^"t 



T 



.^.^ 



63^?^*^ife 




MAN AND WOMyVN. 



21 





are unknown. Well do I know the spot, dear G — , 
where you will lay me ; often have we stood by the 
place, as we watched the mellow sunset, as it glanced 
its quivering flashes through the leaves, and burnished 
the grassy mounds around us with stripes of gold. 

> Each perhaps has thought that one of us would come 
alone ; and whichever it might be, your name would :^ 

i be on the stone. We loved the spot, and I know 
you'll love it none the less when you see the same 
quiet sunlight and gentle breezes play among the 
grass that grows over your Mary's grave. I know 
you'll go often alone there, when I am laid there, and 
my spirit shall be with you then, and whisper among 
the waving branches, ' I am not lost, but gone before.' " 
A woman has no natural gift more bewitching than 
a sweet laugh. It is like the sound of flutes upon the -^^^. 
water. It leads from her in a clear sparkling rill ; and 4^^ 
the heart that hears it feels as if bathed in the cool, 
exhilarating spring. Have you ever pursued an unseen 
figure through the trees, led on by a fairy laugh, now 
here, now there, now lost, now found? We have. 
And we are pursuing that wandering voice to this 
day. Sometimes it comes to us in the midst of care 
and sorrow, or irksome business, and then we turn 
away and listen, and hear it ringing throughout the 
room like a silver bell, with power to scare away the 
evil spirits of the mind. How much we owe to that 
sweet laugh ! It turns prose to poetry ; it flings 
showers of sunshine over the darkness of the wood 
in which we are traveling. 

Ouincy being asked why there were more women 



f 









than men, replied, '*It is in conformity with the 
of nature. We always see more of 
heaven than of earth." He cannot be an unhappy 
man who has the love and smile of woman to accom- 
pany him in every department of life. The world 
may look dark and cheerless without — enemies may 
gather in his path — but when he returns to his fire- 
side, and feels the tender love of woman, he forgets 
his cares and troubles, and is comparatively a happy 
man. He is but half prepared for the journey of 
life, who takes not with him that friend who will 
forsake him in no emergency — who will divide his 
sorrows — increase his joys — lift the veil from his 
heart — and throw sunshine amid the darkest scenes. 
No, that man cannot be miserable who has such a 
companion, be he ever so poor, despised, and trodden 
upon by the world. 

No trait of character is more valuable in a female 
than the possession of a sweet temper. Home can 
never be made happy without it. It is like the flow- 
ers that spring up in our pathway, reviving and 
cheering us. Let a man go home at night, wearied 
and worn by the toils of the day, and how soothing 
is a word by a good disposition ! It is sunshine fall- 
ing on his heart. He is happy, and the cares of life 
are forgotten. Nothing can be more touching than 
to behold a woman who had been all tenderness 
and dependence, and alive to every trivial roughness 
while treading the prosperous path of life, suddenly 
rising in mental force to be the comforter and supporter 
of her husband under misfortune, and abiding with 






IftlV 



w\ 







MAN AND WOMAN. 



unshrinking firmness the bitterest winds of adversity. 
As the vine which has long twined its graceful foliage 
about the oak, and been lifted by it in sunshine, will, 
when the hardy tree is riven by the thunderbolt cling 
round it with its caressing tendrils and bind up its 
shattered boughs, so it is beautifully ordained that 
woman, who is the mere dependent and ornament of 
man in happiest hours, should be his stay and solace 
w^hen smitten by sudden calamity. 

A woman of true intelligence is a blessing at home, 
in her circle of friends, and in society. Wherever she 
goes, she carries with her a healthgiving influence. 
There is a beautiful harmony about her character that 
at once inspires a respect which soon warms into love. 
The influence of such a woman upon society is of the 
most salutary kind. She strengthens right principles in 
the virtuous, incites the selfish and indifferent tocgood-^ 
actions, and gives to even the light and frive?6us a taste 
for food more substantial than the frothy gossip with 
which they seek to recreate their minds. 

Thackeray says: *' It is better for you to pass an 
evening once or twice a week in a lady's drawing-room, 
even though the conversation is slow, and you know 
the girl's song by heart, than in a club, a tavern, or pit 
of a theatre. All amusements of youth to which virtu- 
ous women are not admitted, rely on it, are deleteribus 
in their nature. All men who avoid female society 
have dull perceptions, and are stupid, or have gross 
tastes, and revolt against what is pure. Your club 
swaggerers, who are sucking the butts of billiard-cues 
all night, call female society insipid. Poetry is unin- 





T 




~tT 



<X~: 



24 MAN AND WOMAN. 

Spiring" to a jockey ; beauty has no charms for a blind 
man ; music does not please a poor beast who does 
not know one tune from another ; but as a pure epicure 
is hardly tired of water, sauces, and brown bread and 
butter, I protest I can sit for a whole evening talking 
with a well regulated, kindly woman about her girl 
Fanny, or her boy Frank, and like the evening's 
entertainment. One of the great benefits a man may 
derive from a woman's society is that he is bound to 
be respectful to her. The habit is of great good to 
your moral men, depend upon it. Our education 
makes us the most eminently selfish men in the ^i^ 
world." 

Tom Hood, in writing to his wife, says: *'I never ■ 

was anything till I knew you ; and I have been better, l 

happier and a more prosperous man ever since. Lay ji 

that truth by in lavender, and remind me of it when I \ 

fail. I am writing fondl)^ and warmly ; but not without 
good cause. First, your own affectionate letter, lately 
received ; next, the remembrance of our dear children, 
pledges of our old familiar love ; then a delicious im- 
pulse to pour out the overflowings of my heart into C 
yours ; and last, not least, the knowledge that your v 

dear eyes will read v/hat my hands are now writing. 
Perhaps there is an after-thought that, whatever may v 

befall me, the wife of my bosom will have this acknowl- 
edgment of her tenderness, worth and excellence, of 
all that is wifely or womanly, from my pen." 

Among all nations the women ornament themselves ' 

more than the men ; wherever found, they are the same 
kind, obliging, humane, tender beings ; they are ever 






.^.. 



MAN AND WOMAN. 



25 



^M 



ni 



inclined to be gay and cheerful, timorous and modest. 
They do not hesitate Hke a man, to perform any hos- 
pitable or generous action ; not haughty or arrogant, 
or supercilious, but full of courtesy, and fond of soci- 
ety, industrious, economical, ingenious, more liable, in 
general, to err than man, but, in general, also, more 
virtuous, and performing more good actions than he. 

The gentle tendrils of woman's heart sometimes 
twine around a proud and sinful spirit, Hke roses and 
jessamines around a lightning-rod, clinging for sup- 
port to what brings down upon them the blasting 
thunderbolt. 

These are the national traits of woman's character: 
The EngHsh woman is respectful and proud; the 
French is gay and agreeable ; the Italian is ardent 
and passionate ; the American is sincere and affec^ 
tionate. With an English woman love is a principle; 
with a French it is a caprice ; with an Italian it is a 
passion ; with an American it is a sentiment. A man 
is married to an English lady ; united to a French ; 
cohabits with an Italian ; and is wedded to an Ameri- 
can. An English woman is anxious to secure a lord ; a 
French, a companion ; an Italian, a lover ; an American, 
a husband. The Englishman respects his lady ; the 
Frenchman esteems his companion ; the Italian adores 
his mistress ; the American loves his wife. At nieht 

o 

the Englishman returns to his house ; the Frenchman 
to his establishment ; the Italian to his retreat; the 
American to his home. When an Englishman is sick 
his lady visits him_ ; when a Frenchman is sick, his 
companion pities him; when an Italian is sick, his 






: ''■r'^'-'- 



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i 



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26 



MAN AND WOMAN. 



mistress sighs over him ; when an American is sick, 
his wife nurses him. When an EngHshman dies, his 
lady is bereaved ; when a Frenchman dies, his com- 
panion grieves ; when an ItaHan dies, his mistress 
laments ; when an American dies, his wife mourns. 
An English woman instructs her offspring ; a French 
woman teaches her progeny ; an Italian rears her 
young ; an American educates her child. 

The true lady is known wherever you meet her. 
Ten women shall get into the street car or omnibus, 
and, though we never saw them, we shall point out 
the true lady. She does not giggle constantly at 
every little thing that transpires, or does some one 
appear with a peculiar dress, it does not throw her 
into confusion. She wears no flowered brocade to 
be trodden under foot, nor ball-room jewelry, nor 
rose-tinted gloves ; but the lace frill round her face is 
scrupulously fresh, and the strings under her chin 
have evidently been handled only by dainty fingers. 
She makes no parade of a watch, if she wears one ; 
nor does she draw off her dark, neatly-fitting glove 
to display ostentatious rings. Still we notice, nest- 
ling in the straw beneath us, a trim little boot, not 
paper soled, but of an anti-consumption thickness. 
The bonnet upon her head is of plain straw, simply 
trimmed, for your true lady never wears a ''dress 
hat" in an omnibus. She is quite as civil to the 
poorest as to the richest person who sits beside her, 
and equally regardful of their rights. If she attracts 
attention, it is by the unconscious grace of her per- 
son and manner, not by the ostentation of her dress. 





\\ \k 



■^-m 




We are quite sorry when she pulls the strap and 
disappears ; if we were a bachelor we should go 
home to our solitary den with a resolution lu become 
a better and a — married man. 

The strongest man feels the influence of woman's 
gentlest thoughts, as the mightiest oak quivers in the 
softest breeze. We confess to a great distrust of 
g^^^that man who persistently underrates woman. Never 
p 'clj[4J^nguage better apply to an adjective than when 
it called the wife the '^ better half" We admire the 
ladies because of their beauty, respect them because 
of their virtues, adore them because of their intelli- 
gence, and love them because we caiit help it. 

Man was made to protect, love and cherish, not to 
undervalue, neglect or abuse women. Treated, edu- 
cated and esteemed, as she merits, she rises in dignity, 
-..^becomes the refiner, and imparts a milder, softer tone 
to man. No community has ever exhibited the 
refinements of civilization and social order where 
women were held in contempt and their rights not 
properly respected and preserved. Degrade woman 
and you degrade man more. She is the fluid of the 
thermometer of society, placed there by the hand of 
the great Creator. Man may injure the instrument, 
but can neither destroy or provide a substitute for the 
mercury. Her rights are as sacred as those of the 
male sex. Her mental powers are underrated by 
those only who have either not se^n, or were so 
blinded by prejudice, that they would not see their 
development. Educate girls as boys, put women in 
the business arena designed for men, and they will 






acquit themselves far better than boys and men would 
if they were placed in the departments desig-ned for 
females. 

The perception of woman, especially in cases of 
emergency, is more acute than that of man ; unques- 
tionably so designed by an all-wise Creator for the 
preservation and perpetuity of our race. Her pa- 
tience and fortitude, her integrity and constancy, her 
piety and devotion, are naturally stronger than in the 
other sex. If she was first in transgression, she was 
first in prayer. Her seed has bruised the serpent's 
head. She stood by the expiring Jesus, when boast- 
ing Peter and the other disciples had forsaken their 
Lord. She was the last at his tomb, embalmed his 
sacred body, and the first to discover that he had 
burst the bars of death, risen from the cleft rock, and 
triumphed over death and the grave. 

Under affliction, especially physical, the fortitude 
of woman is proverbial. As a nurse, one female will 
endure more than five men. That she is more honest 
than man, our penitentiaries fully demonstrate. That 
she is more religiously inclined, the records of our 
churches will show. That she is more devotional, 
our prayer meetings v/ill prove. 

Women have exercised a most remarkable judgment 
in regard to great issues. They have prevented the 
casting aside of plans which led to very remarkable 
discoveries and inventions. When Columbus laid a 
plan to discover the new world, he could not get a 
hearing till he applied to a woman for help. Woman 
equips man for the voyage of life. She is seldom a 





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I 



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ifi^X 



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#i^ 






MOTHER. 



29 



kf 



leader in any project, but finds her peculiar and best 
attitude as helper. Thou^c^h man executes a project, 
she fits him for it, beg-inning in his childhood. So 
everywhere ; man performs, but woman trains the 
man. Every effectual person, leaving- his mark on 
the world, is but another Columbus, for whose fur- 
nishing some Isabella, in the form of his mother, lays 
down her jewelry, her vanities, her comforts. :.^} 



~-^m 




It is true to nature, although it be expressed In a 
figurative form, that a mother is both the morning and 
the evening star of life. The light of her eye is 
always the first to rise, and often the last to set upoa 
man's day of trial. She wields a power more decisive 
far than syllogisms in arguments, or courts of last 
appeal in authority. Nay, in cases not a few, where 
there has been no fear of God before the eyes o^ 
the young — where His love has been unfelt and 
His law outraged, a mother's affection or her tremu- 
ous tenderness has held transgressors by the heart- 
strings, and been the means of leading them back to 
virtue and to God. 

Woman's charms are certainly many and powerful. 
The expanding rose, just bursting- into beauty, has an 
irresistible bewitchingness ; — the blooming bride, led 
triumphantly to the hymeneal altar, awakens admira- 
tion and interest, and the blush of her cheek fills with 



^1 






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delig-ht; — but the charm of maternity is more subUme 
than all these. 

Heaven has imprinted in the mother's face some- 
thing- beyond this world, something- which claims 
kindred with the skies — the angelic smile, the tender 
look, the waking, watchful eye, which keeps its fond 
vigil over her slumbering babe. 

Mother ! ecstatic sound so twined round our hearts 
that they must cease to throb ere we forget it ! 'tis 
our first love ; 'tis part of religion. Nature has set 
the mother upon such a pinnacle that our infant eyes 
and arms are first uplifted to it ; we cling to it in man- 
hood ; we almost worship it in old age. He who can 
enter an apartment and behold the tender babe feeding 
on its mother's beauty — nourished by the tide of life 
which flows through her generous veins, without a 
panting bosom and a grateful eye, is no man, but a 
monster. 

"Can a mother's love be supplied? No! a thou- 
sand times no ! By the deep, earnest yearning of 
our spirits for a mother's love ; by the weary, aching 
void in our hearts ; by the restless, unsatisfied wand- 
erings of our affections, ever seeking an object on 
which to rest ; by our instinctive discernment of the 
/7'7ie maternal love from the fa/se — as we would dis- 
cern between a lifeless statue and a breathing man ; 
by the hallowed emotions with which we cherish in 
the depths of our hearts the vision of a grass-grown 
mound in a quiet graveyard among the mountains ; 
by the reverence, the holy love, the feeling akin to 
idolatry with which our thoughts hover about an 



W^ 



\- 



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[L 




ang-el form among- the seraphs of Heaven — by all 
these, we answer, no ! " 

"Often do I sigh in my struggles with the hard, 
uncaring world, for the sweet, deep security I felt 
when, of an evening, nestling in her bosom, I listened 
to some quiet tale, suitable to my age, read in her 
tender and untiring voice. Never can I forget her 
sweet glance cast upon me when I appeared asleep ; 
never her kiss of peace at nip^ht. Years have passed 
away since we laid her beside my father in the old 
church-yard ; yet, still her voice whispers from tlie 
grave, and her eye watches over me, as I visit spots 
long since hallowed to the memory of my mother." 

Oh ! there is an enduring tenderness in the love of a 
mother to her son that transcends all other affections 
of the heart. It is neither to be chilled by selfish- 
ness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened by worth- 
essness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will^sacri:fiG( 
every comfort to his convenience ; she will surrender 
every pleasure to his enjoyment ; she will glory in 
his fame and exult in his prosperity ; and if misfor- 
tune overtake him, he will be the dearer to her from 
misfortune ; and if disgrace settle upon his name, 
she will still love and cherish him in spite of his 
disgrace ; and if all the world beside cast him off. 
she will be all the world to him. 

Alas ! how little do we appreciate a mother's ten- 
derness while living. How heedless are we in youth 
of all her anxieties and kindness ? But when she is 
dead and gone, when the cares and coldness of the 
w^orld come withering to our hearts, when we expert- 






I 1 







ence how hard it Is to find true sympathy, how few to 
love us for ourselves, how few will befriend us in mis- 
fortune, then it is that we think of the mother we have 
lost. 

Over the grave of a friend, of a brother, or a sister, 
we would plant the primrose, emblematical of youth ; 
but over that of a mother, we would let the green 
grass shoot up unmolested, for there is something in 
the simple covering which nature spreads upon the 
grave, that well becomes the abiding place of decay- 
ing age. O, a mother's grave ! Earth has some 
sacred spots where we feel like loosing shoes from 
our feet, and treading with reverence ; where common 
words of social converse seem rude, and friendship's 
hands have lingered in each other; where vows have 
been plighted, prayers offered, and tears of parting 
shed. Oh ! how thoughts hover around such places, 
and travel back through unmeasured space to visit 
them ! But of all spots on this green earth none is so 
sacred as that where rests, waiting the resurrection, 
those we have once loved and cherished — our broth- 
ers, or our children. Hence, in all ages, the better 
part of mankind have chosen spots for the dead, and 
on these spots they have loved to wander at eventide. 
But of all places, even among the charnel-houses of 
the dead, none is so sacred as a mother's grave. 
There sleeps the nurse of infancy, the guide of our 
youth, the counselor of our riper years — our friend 
when others deserted us ; she whose heart was a 
stranger to every other feeling but love — there she 
sleeps, and we love the very earth for her sake. 



Ill 





T 





MOTIIEK 



33 



'^ST' 




/ 



:M 



\ 



In what Christian country can we deny the influence 
which a mother exerts over the whole Hfe of her chil- 
dren. The roughest and hardest wanderer, while he 
is tossed on the ocean, or while he scorches his feet 
on the desert sands, recurs in his loneliness and 
/ :::^^sijffering to the smiles which maternal affection shed 
^'"'over his infancy; the reckless sinner, even in his 
-^^ eJiardened eareerv occasionally hears the whisperings of 
those holy precepts instilled by a virtuous mother, 
and, although they may, in the fullness of guilt, be neg- 
lected, there are many instances of their having so 
stung the conscience that they have led to a deep 
and lasting repentence ; the erring child of either sex 
will then, if a mother yet exists, turn to her for that 
consolation which the laws of society deny, and in 
the lasting purity of a mother's love will find the way 
to heaven. How cheerfully does a virtuous son labor 
for a poverty-stricken mother ! How^^live istie to her 
honor and high standing in the world ! And should 
that mother be deserted — be left in "worse than w^id 
owhood," how proudly he stands forth her comforter 
and protector ! Indeed, the more we reflect upon the 
subject, the more entirely are we convinced, that no 
influence is so lasting, or of such wide extent, and the 
more extensively we do feel the nec<tbsity of guiding 
this sacred affection, and perfecti;jg that being from 
whom it emanates. 

Science has sometimes tried Iv) teach us that if a 

pebble be cast into the sea on any shore, the effects 

are felt though not perceived by man, over the whole 

area of the ocean. Or, more wonderful still, science 

3 



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has tried to show that the effects of all the sounds 
ever uttered by man or beast, or caused by inanimate 
things, are still floating in the air: its present state is 
just the aggregate result of all these sounds ; and if 
these things, be true, they furnish an emblem of the 
effects produced by a mother's power — effects which 
stretch into eternity, and operate there forever, in sor- 
row or in joy. 

The mother can take man's whole nature under 
her control. She becomes what she has been called, 
''The divinity of infancy." Her smile is its sun- 
shine, her word its mildest law, until sin and the 
world have steeled the heart. She can shower around 
her the most genial of all influences, and from the 
time when she first laps her little one in Elysium by 
clasping him to her bosom — ''its first paradise" — 
to the moment when that child is independent of her 
aid, or perhaps, like Washington, directs the destinies 
of millions, her smile, her word, her wish, is an inspir- 
mg force. A sentence of encouragement or praise is 
a joy for a day. It spreads light upon all faces, and 
renders a mother's power more and more charm-like, 
as surely as ceaseless accusing, rebuking, and correct- 
ing, chafes, sours and disgusts. So intense is her 
power that the mere remembrance of a praying 
mother's hand, laid on the head in infancy, has held 
back a son from guilt when passion had waxed strong. 

The mother is the angel-spirit of home. Her ten- 
der yearnings over the cradle of her infant babe, her 
guardian care of the child and youth, and her bosom, 
companionship with the man of her love and choice, 



ifllllUlJ 





make her the personal centre of the interests, the 
hopes and the happiness of the family. Her love 
glows in her sympathies and reigns in all her thoughts 
and deeds. It never cools, it never tires, never 
dreads, never sleeps, but ever glows and burns with 
increasing ardor, and with sweet and holy incense 
upon the altar of home devotion. And even when 
[^he is gone to her last rest, the sainted mother in 
heaven sways a mightier influence over her wayward 
husband or child, than when she was present. Her 
departed spirit still hovers over his affections, over- 
shadows his path, and draws him by unseen cords to 
herself in heaven. 

But in glancing at a mother's position in our 
homes, we should not overlook the sorrows to which 
she is often exposed. A mother mourning by the 

mve of her first-born is a spectacle of wo#;;?%. ^ 
'mother watching the palpitating frame of her child, 
as life ebbs slowly away, must evoke the sympathy 
of the sternest. A mother closing the dying eye of 
child after child, till it seems as if she were to be left 
alone in the world again, is one of the saddest sights 
of earth. When the cradle-song passes into a dirge, 
the heart is laden indeed. 

Not long ago two friends were sitting together en- 
gaged in letter writing. One was a young man from 
India, the other a female friend, part of whose family 
resided in that far-off land. The former was writing 
to his mother in India. When the letter was finished 
his friend offered to enclose it in hers, to save postage. 
This he politely declined, saying: If it be sent sepa 



'r^^ 




36 



MOTPIER. 



I } 

1:1 

h 



I 



c-^m 






rately, it will reach her sooner than if sent through a 
friend; and, perhaps, it may save her a tear." His 
friend was touched at his tender regard for his moth- 
er's feelings, and felt with him, that it was worth pay- 
ing the postage to save his mother a tear. Would 
that every boy and girl, every young man and every 
young woman were equally saving of a mother's tears. 

The Christian mother especially can deeply plant 
and genially cherish the seeds of truth. Is her child 
sick ? that is a text from which to speak of the Great 
Physician. Is it the sober calm of evening, when 
even children grow sedate? She can tell of the 
Home where there is no night. Is it morning, when 
all are buoyantly happy? The eternal day is sug- 
gested, and its glories may be told. That is the wis- 
dom which wins souls even more than the formal 
lesson, the lecture, or the task. 

There is one suggestion more. Perhaps the saddest 
sentence that can fall upon the ear regarding any 
child is — "He has no mother; she is dead!" It 
comes like a voice from the sepulchre, and involves 
the consummation of all the sorrows that can befall 
the young. In that condition they are deprived of 
their most tender comforter, and their wisest coun- 
selor. They are left a prey to a thousand tempta- 
tions or a thousand ills, and freed from the restraint 
of one who could curb without irritating, or guide 
without affecting superiority. Now will mothers live 
with their children as if they were thus to leave them 
in a cold and inhospitable world? Will they guide 
their little ones to Him who is pre-eminently the 











CHILDREN. 





God of the orphan, and who Inspired his servant to 
say — "Though father and mother forsake me, the 
Lord will take me up." 




K 



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J 



Wo# to him who smiles not over a cradle, and 
weej^s not over a tomb. He who has never tried the 
companionship of a little child, has carelessly passed 
by one of the greatest pleasures of life, as one passes 
a rare flower without plucking It or knowing its value. 
The gleeful laugh of happy children Is the best home 
music, and the graceful figures of childhood are the 
best statuary. We are all kings and queens In the 
f\V^%;"tradle, and each babe Is a new ixiarvel, a new^mlracle/ 
The perfection of the providence for chiMhbdd-^Is^'' 
willingly acknowledged. The care which covers the 
seed of the tree under tough husks, and stony cases 
provides for the human plant, the mother's breast and 
the father's house. The size of the nestler Is comic, 
and its tiny, beseeching weakness is compensated 
pe: fectly by the one happy, patronizing look of the 
mother, who is a sort of high-reposing Providence 
to it. Welcome to the parents the puny struggler, 
strong in his weakness, his little arms more irresisti- 
ble than the soldier's, his lips touched with persuasion 
which Chatham and Pericles in manhood had not. 
His unaffected lamentations when he lifts up his voice 
on high ; the face all liquid grief, as he tries to swal- 



-R) 








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I'l'd: 




low his vexation — soften all hearts to pity and to 
mirthful and clamorous compassion. The small des- 
pot asks so little that all reason and all nature are on 
his side. His ignorance is more charming than all 
knowledge, and his little sins more bewitching than 
any virtue. His flesh is angel's flesh, all alive. 
'Tnfancy," said Coleridge, ''presents body and spirit 
in unity; the body is all animated." All day, between 
his three or four sleeps, he coos like a pigeon-house, 
sputters and purs, and puts on his faces of import^ 
ance, and when he fasts, the little Pharisee fails not 
to sound his trumpet before him. By lamplight, he 
delights in shadows on the wall ; by daylight, in yel- 
low and scarlet. Carry him out of doors — he is 
overpowered by the light and by the extent of natural 
objects, and is silent. Then presently begins his use 
of his fingers, and he studies power — the lesson of 
his race. 

Not without design has God implanted in the ma- 
ternal breast that strong love of their children which 
is felt everywhere. This lays deep and broad the 
foundation for the child's future education from paren- 
tal hands. Nor without designs has Christ com- 
manded, ''Feed my lambs," — meaning to inculcate 
upon his church the duty of caring for the children 
of the church and the world at the earliest possible 
period. Nor can parents and all well-wishers to hu- 
manity be too earnest and careful to fulfill the prompt- 
ings of their very nature and the command of Christ 
in this matter. ' Influence is as quiet and imperceptible 
on the child's mind as the fallino- of snowflakes on the 



i 



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it 





CHILDREN. 

meadow. One cannot tell the hour when the human 
mind is not in the condition of receiving impressions 
from exterior moral forces. In innumerable instances, 
the most secret and unnoticed influences have been in 
operation for months and even years to break down 
the strongest barriers of the human heart, and work 
out its moral ruin, while yet the fondest parents and 
riends have been unaware of the working of 
Sucn u'nseen agents of evil. Not all at once does any 
heart become utterly bad. The error is in this ; that 
parents are not conscious how early the seeds of vice 
are sown and take root. It is as the Gospel declares, 
"While men slept, the enemy camie and sowed tares, 
and went his way." If this then is the error, how 
shall it be corrected, and what is the antidote to be 
pplied? 
Never scold children, but soberly and 'qi^ey- 
>reprove. Do not employ shame, except^ extreme 
cases. The suffering is acute ; it hurts self-respect 
in the child to reprove a child before the family; to 
ridicule it, to tread down its feelings ruthlessly, is to 
wake in its bosom malignant feelings. A child is 
defenceless ; he is not allowed to argue. He is often 
tried, condemned and executed in a second. He finds 
himself of little use. He is put at things he don't 
care for, and withheld from things which he does like. 
He is made the convenience of grown-up people ; Is 
hardly supposed to have any rights, except in a cor- 
ner, as it were ; is sent hither and thither ; made to 
get up or sit down for everybody's convenience but his 
own ; is snubbed and catechised until he learns to 







dodge government and elude authority, and then be 
whipped for being ''such a Har that no one can 
beheve him." 

Children will not trouble you long. They grow 
up — nothing on earth grows so fast as children. It 
was but yesterday, and that lad was playing with tops, 
a buoyant boy. He is a man, and gone now ! There 
is no more childhood for him or for us. Life has 
claimed him. When a beginning is made, it is like a 
raveling stocking ; stitch by stitch gives way till all 
are ofone. The house has not a child in it — there is 
no more noise in the hall — boys rush in pell-mell; it 
is very orderly now. There are no more skates or 
sleds, bats, balls or strings left scattered about. 
Things are neat enough now. There is no delay for 
sleepy folks ; there is no longer any task, before you 
lie down, of looking after anybody, and tucking up 
the bedclothes. There are no disputes to settle, 
nobody to get off to school, no complaint, no oppor- 
tunities for impossible things, no rips to mend, no fin- 
gers to tie up, no faces to be washed, or collars to be 
arranged. There never was such peace in the house ! 
It would sound like music to have some feet to 
datter down the front stairs ! Oh for some children's 
noise ! What used to ail us, that we were hushing 
their loud laugh, checking their noisy frolic, and 
reproving their slamming and banging the doors? We 
wish our neighbors would only lend us an urchin 
or two to make a little noise in these premises. A 
home without children. It is like a lantern and 
no candle; a garden and no flowers; a vine and no 









? 



1 



ai^. 




grapes ; a brook and no water gurgling and gushing 
in its channel. We want to be tired, to be vexed, 
to be run over, to hear children at work with all its 
•varieties. 

Bishop Earle says: "A child is man in a small 
letter, yet the best copy of Adam, before he tasted of 
Eve or ihe apple ; and he is happy whose small pracA, 
tice in the world can only write his character. His 
soul is yet a white paper unscribbled with observations 
of the world, wherewith, at length, it becomes a 
blurred note-book. He is purely happy, because he 
knows no evil, nor hath made means by sin to be 
acquainted with misery. He arrives not at the mis- 
chief of being wise, nor endures evils to come, by 
forseeing them. He kisses and loves all, and when 
the smart of the rod is past, smiles on his beater.. 
The older he grows, he is a stair lower from God 
He is the Christian example, and the old man's 
relapse ; the one imitates his pureness, and the other 
falls into his simplicity. Could he put off his body 
with his little coat, he had got eternity without a 
burden, and exchanged but one heaven for another." 

Children are more easily led to be good by exam.- 
ples of loving kindness, and tales of well-doing in 
others, than threatened into obedience by records of 
sin, crime and punishment. Then, on the infant mind 
impress sincerity, truth, honesty, benevolence and 
their kindred virtues, and the welfare of your child 
will be insured not only during this life, but the life 
to come. Oh, what a responsibility, to form a crea- 
ture, the frailest and feeblest that heaven has made, 





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into the Intelligent and fearless sovereign of the whole 
animated creation, the Interpreter and adorer and 
almost the representative of Divinity ! 



Men glory in raising great and magnificent struc- 
tures, and find a secret pleasure in seeing sets of their 
own planting grow up and flourish ; but It Is a greater 
and more glorious work to build up a man ; to see a 
youth of our own planting, from the small beginnings 
and advantages we have given him, grow up Into a 
considerable fortune, to take root In the world, and to 
shoot up to such a height, and spread his branches so 
wide, that we who first planted him may ourselves 
find comfort and shelter under his shadow. 

Much of our early gladness vanishes utterly from 
our memory ; we can never recall the joy with which 
we laid our heads on our mother's bosom, or rode 
our father's back In childhood ; doubtless that joy Is 
wrought up Into our nature as the sunlight of long past 
mornings is wrought up In the soft mellowness of the 
apricot. 

The time will soon come — If it has not already — 
when you must part from those who have surrounded 
the same paternal board, who mingled with you In 
the gay-hearted joys of childhood, and the opening 
promise of youth. New cares will attend you in new 
situations ; and the relations you form, or the busi- 



% 



jm 





ness you pursue, may call you far from the ''play- 
place" of your ''early days." In the unseen future, 
your brothers and sisters may be sundered from you ,' 
your lives may be spent apart; and in death you may 
be divided ; and of you it may be said — 

"They grew in beauty, side by side, 
They filled one home with glee ; 
Their graves are severed far and wide, 
■» By mount, and stream, and sea." 

Let your own home be the cynosure of your affec- 
tions, the spot where your highest desires are concen- 
trated. Do this, and you will prove, not only the hope, 
but the stay of your kindred and home. Your per- 
sonal character will elevate the whole family. Others 
may become degenerate sons, and bring the gray hairs 
of their parents with sorrow to the grave. But,-^pu 
j^iWill be the pride and staff of a mother, and an hca^ri^nt 
-^your sire. You will establish their house, 'give peace 
to their pillow, and be a memorial to their praise. 

Spend your evening hours, boys, at home. You 
may make them among the most agreeable and profit- 
able of your lives, and when vicious companions 
would tempt you away, remember that God has said, 
''Cast not in thy lot with them; walk thou not in their 
way ; refrain thy foot from their path. They lay in 
wait for their own blood ; they lurk privily for their 
own lives. But walk thou in the way of good men, 
and keep the paths of the righteous." 

Keep good company or none. Never be idle. If 
3/our hands cannot be usefully employed, attend to the 
cultivation of your mind. Always speak the truth. 



t^\ 



hi 






Make few promises. Live up to your engagements. 
Keep your own secrets, if you have any. When you 
speak to a person, look him in the face. Good 
company and good conversation are the very sinews 
of virtue. Good character is above all things else. 
Your character cannot be essentially injured except 
by your own acts. If one speak evil of you, let 
life be such that none will believe him. Drink no 
kind of intoxicating liquors. Always live, misfortune 
excepted, within your income. When you retire to 
bed, think over what you have been doing during the 
day. Make no haste to be rich if you would prosper. 
Small and steady gains give competency with tran- 
quillity of mind. Never play at any kind of game of 
chance. Avoid temptation through fear that you may 
not be able to withstand it. Never run into debt, 
unless you see a way to get out again. Never bor- 
row if you can possibly avoid it. Never speak evil 
of any one. Be just before you are generous. Keep 
yourself innocent if you would be happy, Save when 
you are young to spend when you are old. Never 
think that which you do for religion is time or money 
misspent. Always go to meeting when you can. 
Read some portion of the Bible every day. Often 
think of death, and your accountability to God. 

An honest, industrious boy is always wajited. He 
will be sought for ; his services will be in demand ; he 
will be respected and loved ; he will be spoken of in 
words of high commendation ; he will always have a 
home ; he will grow up to be a man of known worth 
and established character. 



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YOUTH. 



He will be wanted. The merchant will want him 
for a salesman or a clerk ; the master mechanic will 
want him for an apprentice or a journeyman ; those 
with a job to let will want him for a contractor; 
clients will want him for a lawyer ; patients for a phy- 
sician ; religious congregations for a pastor; "parents 
for a teacher of their children ; and the people forf^ai 
an officer. -'^^W'^^ 

He will be wanted. Townsmen will want him as a 
citizen ; acquaintances as a neighbor ; neighbors as 
a friend ; families as a visitor ; the world as an ac- 
quaintance ; nay, girls will want him for a beau and 
finally for a husband. 

To both parents, when faithful, a child is indebted 
beyond estimation. If one begins to enumerate their 
claims, to set in order their labors, and recount their 
sacrifices and privations, he is soon compelled to^ 
desist from his task. He is constrained to acknowl-^"^ 
edge that their love for him is surpassed only by that 
of the great Spring of all good, whom — to represent 
in the strongest language our measureless indebted- 
ness to Him — we call ''Our Father in Heaven." 

Parents do wrong in keeping their children hang- 
ing around home, sheltered and enervated by parental 
indulgence. The eagle does better. It stirs up its 
nest when the young eagles are able to fly. They 
are compelled to shift for themselves, for the old eagle 
literally turns them out, and at the same time tears 
all the down and feathers from the nest. 'Tis this 
rude and rough experience that makes the king of 
birds so fearless in his flight and so expert in the 




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46 



YOUTH. 




pursuit of prey. It is a misfortune to be born with a 
silver spoon in your mouth, for you have it to carry 
and plague you all your days. Riches often hang 
like a dead weight, yea like a millstone about the 
necks of ambitious young men. Had Benjamin Frank- 
lin or George Law been brought up in the lap of 
affluence and ease, they would probably never have 
been heard of by the world at large. It was the 
making of the one that he ran away, and of the other 
that he was turned out of doors. Early thrown upon 
their own resources, they acquired the energy and 
skill to overcome resistance, and to grapple with the 
difficulties that beset their pathway. And here I 
think they learned the most Important lesson of their 
lives — a lesson that developed their manhood — forc- 
ing upon them Necessity, the most useful and inexor- 
able of masters. There is nothing like being bound 
out, turned out, or even kicked out, to compel a man 
to do for himself Rough handling of the last sort 
has often made drunken men sober. Poor boys, 
though at the foot of the hill, should remember that 
every step they take toward the goal of wealth and 
honor gives them increased energy and power. They 
have a purchase and, obtain a moinentuni, the rich 
man's son never knows. The poor man's son has 
the heaviest zveight to lift, but without knowing it he 
is turning the Io7igest lever, and that with the utmost 
vim and vigor. Boys, do not sigh for the capital or 
indulgence of the rich, but use the capital you have — 
I mean those God-given powers which every healthy 
youth of good habits has in and of himself All a 



V^ vfl A 






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ijuuli^A, 



man wants in this life is a skillful hand, a well informed 
mind, and a good heart. In our happy land, and in 
M these favored times of libraries, lyceums, liberty, reli- 

\nX ^ion and education, the humblest and poorest can aim 

y] at the greatest usefulness, and the highest excellence, 
with a prospect of success that calls forth all the 
endurance, perseverance and industry that is in man. 
''We live in an age marked by its lack of veneration. 
Old, institutions, however sacred, are now fearlessly, 
and often wantonly, assailed ; the aged are not treated 
with deference ; and fathers and mothers are address- 
ed with rudeness. The command now runs, one 
would think, not in the good old tenor of the Bible, 
''Children obey your parents in the Lord, for this is 
right," but thus : Parents obey your children. Some 
may go so far as to say this is right. "Why should 
who am so much superior to my father an'd r^ 
#%iother, bow down before them? Were jfa^ ^^ 
to me ; did they appear so well in society ; and, espe- 
cially, were they not in destitute circumstances I 
could respect them. But" — my young friend, pause 
— God, nature, and humanity forbid you to pursue 
this strain. Because our parents are poor, are we 
/ absolved from all obligations to love and respect 
them ? Nay, if our father was in narrow circum- 
stances, and still did all that he could for us, we owe 
him, instead of less regard, an hundred fold the more. 
If our mother, with scanty means, could promote our 
comfort and train us up as she did, then, for the sake 
of reason, of right, of common compassion, let us not 
despise her in her need. 




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Let every child, having any pretence to heart, or 
manliness, or piety, and who is so fortunate as to have 
a lather or mother living, consider it a sacred duty to 
consult at any reasonable, personal sacrifice, the 
known wishes of such a parent, until that parent is no 
more; and our word for it the recollection of the 
same through the after pilgrimage of life will sweeten 
every sorrow, will brighten every gladness, will 
sparkle every tear drop with a joy ineffable. But be 
selfish still, have your own way, consult your own 
inclinations, yield to the bent of your own desires, ^ 

regardless of a parent's commands, and counsels, and ^^^^^^^ 
beseechings, and tears, and as the Lord liveth your 
life will be a failure; because, ''the eye that mocketh 
at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the 
ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young 
eagle shall eat it." 

Consider, finally, that if you live on, the polluted 
joys of youth cannot be the joys of old age ; though 
its guilt and the sting left behind, will endure. We 
know well that the path of strict virtue is steep and 
rugged. But, for the stern discipline of temperance, 
the hardship of self-denial, the crushing of appetite 
and passion, there will be the blessed recompense of 
cheerful, healthful manhood, and an honorable old 
age. Yes, higher and better than all temporal 
returns, live for purity of speech and thought, live 
for an incorruptible character; have the courage to 
begin the great race, and the energy to pursue the 
|3;lorIous Drize; forsee your danger, arm against it, 
trust in God and you will have nothing to tear. 






I 





MOTHER THE DIVINITY OF INFANCY 

The mother is the angel-spirit of home. Her love glows in her sympathies and reigns 

in all her thoughts and deeds. It never cools, it never tires, never dreads, 

never sleeps, but ever glows and burns with increasing ardor, 

and with sweet and holy incense upon the altar 

of home devotion. (Page 35.) 



1-^ 



11 



--i»'^/ ^^Gjsa^^^ar'i^^^s:^- ^'"^ ""~ " /•.'t''' ~.' .. '. "^J^f"-' 



HOME. 49 




What a hallowed name ! How full of enchant- 5^1 

nient and how dear to the heart ! Home Is the magic )\; 

circle within which the weary spirit finds refuge ; it is 
the sacred asylum to which the care-worn heart 
retreats to find rest from the toils and inquietudes of 
life. ^!f' 

Ask the lone wanderer as he plods his tedious way, 
bent with the weight of age, and white with the frost 
of years, ask him what is home. He will tell you ''it 
is a green spot in memory ; an oasis in the desert ; a ^, , 

centre about which the fondest recollections of his ^'^ 

grief-oppressed heart cling with all the tenacity of 
youth's first love. It was once a glorious, a happy 
reality, but now it rests only as an image of the 
mind." ^-'^1 

Home ! That name touches every fiber of the soul, 
and strikes every chord of the human heart with its 
angelic fingers. Nothing but death can break its spell. 
What tender associations are linked with home ! 
What pleasing images and deep emotions it awakens ! 
It calls up the fondest memories of life and opens in 
OUT nature the purest deepest, richest gush of conse- 
crated thought and feeling. 

Some years ago some twenty thousand people gath- 
ered in the old Castle Garden, New York, to hear U\ 
Jennie Lind sing, as no other songstress ever had i^% 
sung, the sublime compositions of Beethoven, Handel, 
etc. At length the Swedish Nightingale thought of 








^n^. 



her home, paused, and seemed to fold ner wings for 
a higher flight. She began with deep emotion to 
pour forth ''Home, Sweet Home." The audience 
could not stand it. An uproar of applause stopped 
the music. Tears gushed from those thousands like 
rain. Beethoven and Handel were forgotten. After 
a moment the song came again, seemingly as from 
heaven, almost angelic. Home, that was the word 
that bound as with a spell twenty thousand souls, and 
Howard Payne triumphed over the great masters of 
song. When we look at the brevity and simplicity 
of this home song, we are ready to ask, what is the 
charm that lies concealed in it.^^ Why does the 
dramatist and poet find his reputation resting on so 
apparently narrow a basis ? The answer is easy. 
Next to religion, the deepest and most ineradicable 
sentiment in the human soul is that of the home affec- 
tions. Every heart vibrates to this theme. 

Home has an influence which is stronger than death. 
It is law to our hearts, and binds us with a spell which 
neither time nor change can break; the darkest vil- 
lainies which have disgraced humanity cannot neutral- 
ize it. Gray-haired and demon guilt will miake his 
dismal cell the sacred urn of tears wept over the 
memories of home, and these will soften and melt 
into tears of penitence even the heart of adamant. 

Ask the little child what is home ? You will find 
that to him it is the world — he knows no other. The 
father's love, the mother's smile, the sister's embrace, 
the brother's welcome, throw about his home a 
heavenly halo, and make it as attractive to him as the 




HOME. 








home of the angels. Home is the spot where the child 
pours out ail its complaints, and it is the grave of all 
its sorrows. Childhood has its sorrows and its 
grievances, but home is the place where these are 
soothed and banished by the sweet lullaby of a fond 
mother's voice. 

Was paradise an abode of purity and peace? or 
Apll the New Eden above be one of unmingled beati- 
Then "the Paradise of Childhood," "th« 
Eden of Home," are names applied to the family 
abode. In that paradise, all may appear as smiling 
and serene to childhood as the untainted garden did 
to unfallen man ; even the remembrance of it, amid 
distant scenes of woe, has soothed some of the sad- 
dest hours of life, and crowds of mourners have 
spoken of 

"A home, that paradise below 
Of sunshine, and of flowers, 
Where hallowed joys perennial flow 
By calm sequester 'd bowers." 



There childhood nestles like a bird which has built 
its abode among roses ; there the cares and the cold- 
ness of earth are, as long as possible, averted. 
Flowers there bloom, or fruits invite on every side^ 
and there paradise would indeed be restored, could 
mortal power ward off the consequences of sin. This 
new garden of the Lord would then abound in 
beauty unsullied, and trees of the Lord's planting, 
bearing fruit to his glory, would be found in plenty 
there-— it would be reality, and not mere poetry, tc 
speak of 

" My own dear quiet home. 
The Eden of my heart." 



m 












Home of our childhood ! What words fall upon 
the ear with so much of music in their cadence as 
those which recall the scenes of innocent and happy 
childhood, now numbered with the memories of the 
past ! How fond recollection delights to dwell upon 
the events which marked our early pathway, when 
the unbroken home-circle presented a scene of loveli- 
ness vainly sought but in the bosom of a happy fam- 
ily ! Intervening years have not dimmed the vivid 
coloring with which memory has adorned those joyous 
hours of youthful Innocence. We are again borne on 
the wings of imagination to the place made sacred 
by the remembrance of a father's care, a mother's 
love, and the cherished associations of brothers and 
sisters. 

Home ! How often we hear persons speak of the 
home of their childhood. Their minds seem to de- 
light In dwelling upon the recollections of joyous 
days spent beneath the parental roof, when their 
young and happy hearts were as light and free 
as the birds that made the woods ' resound with the 
melody of their cheerful voices. What a blessing it 
Is, when weary with care and burdened with sorrow, 
to have a home to which we can go, and there, in the 
midst of friends we love, forget our troubles and dwell 
In peace and quietness. 

There Is no happiness in life, there is no misery 
like that growing out of the dispositions which con- 
secrate or desecrate a home. Peace at home, that is 
the boon. ''He is happiest, be he king or peasant, 
who finds peace in his home." Home should be 



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made so truly home that the weary tempted heart 
could turn toward it anywhere on the dusiy highway 
of life and receive light and strength. It should be 
the sacred refuge of our lives, whether rich or poor. 
The affections and loves of home are graceful things, 
r'^^^^specially among the poor. The ties that bind the 
wealthy and the proud to home may be forged on earth, 
but those which link the poor man to his humble 
hearth are of the true metal and bear the stamp of 
heaven. These affections and loves constitute the 
poetry of human life, and, so far as our present 
existence is concerned with all the domestic relations, 
are worth more than all other social ties. They give 
the first throb to the heart and unseal the deep foun- 
tains of its love. Home is the chief school of human 
virtue. Its responsibilities, joys, sorrows, smiles, 
tears, hopes, and solicitudes form the chief interest of 
human life. ' ' ' ^ '"'^'^^'^ '^^ 

There is nothing in the world which is so venerable 
as the character of parents ; nothing so intimate and 
endearing as the relation of husband and wife ; noth- 
ing so tender as that of parents and children ; noth- 
ing so lovely as those of brothers and sisters. The 
little circle is made one by a singular union of the 
affections. The only fountain in the wilderness of 
life, where man drinks of water totally unmixed with 
bitter ingredients, is that which gushes for him in 
the calm and shady recess of domestic life. Pleasure 
may heat the heart with artificial excitement, ambi- 
tion may delude it with golden dreams, war may 
eradicate its fine fibres and diminish its sensitiveness. 



.-41^, 





but it is only domestic love that can render it truly 
happy. 

Even as the sunbeam is composed of millions of 
minute rays, the home life must be constituted of 
little tendernesses, kind looks, sweet laughter, gentle 
words, loving counsels ; it must not be like the torch- 
blaze of natural excitement which is easily quenched, 
but like the serene, chastened light which burns as 
safely in the dry east wind as in the stillest atmos- 
phere. Let each bear the other s burden the while — 
let each cultivate the mutual confidence which is a 
gift capable of increase and improvement — and soon 
it will be found that kindliness will spring up on every 
side, displacing constitutional unsuitability, want of 
mutual knowledge, even as we have seen sweet 
violets and primroses dispelling the gloom of the gray 
sea-rocks. 

There is nothing on earth so beautiful as the 
household on which Christian love forever smiles, 
and where religion walks a counselor and a friend. 
No cloud can darken it, for its twin-stars are centered 
in the soul. No storms can make it tremble, for it has 
a heavenly support and a heavenly anchor. 

Home is a place of refuge. Tossed day by day 
upon the rough and stormy ocean of life — harassed 
by worldly cares, and perplexed by worldly inqui- 
etudes, the weary spirit yearns after repose. It seeks 
and finds it in the refuge which home supplies. 
Here the mind is at rest ; the heart's turmoil becomes 
quiet, and the spirit basks in the peaceful delights of 
domestic love. 



y>>' 



fiiii 







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Yes^ home is a place of rest — we feel It so when 
we seek and enter it after the busy cares and trials of 
the day are over. We may find joy elsewhere, but it 
is not the joy, the satisfaction of home. Of the 
world the heart may soon tire ; of the home, never. 
In the former there Is much of cold formality, much 
hupartlessness under the garb of friendship, but in the 
mtter it Is all heart — all friendship of the purest, 
truest character. 

The road along which the man of business travels 
in pursuit of competence or wealth is not a Macadam- 
ized one, nor does it ordinarily lead through pleasant 
scenes and by well-springs of delight. On the con- 
trary, it Is a rough and rugged path, beset with '* wait- 
a-bit" thorns and full of pit-falls, which can only be 
avoided by the watchful care of circumspection. After 
»very day's journey over this worse than rough tui 
pike road, the wayfarer needs somethlng^'^ore t1 
rest ; he requires solace, and he deserves it. He is 
weary of the dull prose of life, and athirst for the 
poetry. Happy is the business man who can find 
that solace and that poetry at home. Warm greet- 
ings from loving hearts, fond glances from bright 
eyes, the welcome shouts of children, the many thou- 
sand little arrangements for our comfort and enjoy- 
ment that silently tell of thoughtful and expectant 
love, the gentle ministrations that disencumber us and 
force us into an old and easy seat before we are 
aware of it ; these and like tokens of affection and 
sympathy constitute the poetry which reconciles us to 
the prose of life. Think of this, ye wives and daugh- 





tefs of business men ! Think of the toils, the anxie- 
ties, the mortification, and wear that fathers undergo 
to secure for you comfortable homes, and compensate 
them for their trials by making them happy by their 
own firesides. 

Is it not true, that much of a man's energy and 
success, as well as happiness, depends upon the 
character of his home ? Secure there, he goes forth 
bravely to encounter the trials of life. It encourages 
him to think of his pleasant home. It is his point of 
rest. The thought of a dear wife shortens the dis- 
tance of a journey, and alleviates the harassings of 
business. It is a reserved power to fall back upon. 
Home and home friends ! How dear they are to us 
all ! Well might we love to linger on the picture of 
home friends ! When all other friends prove false, 
home friends, removed from every bias but love, are 
the steadfast and sure stays of our peace of soul,— 
are best and dearest when the hour is darkest and the 
danger of evil the greatest. But if one have none to 
care for him at home, — if there be neglect, or love of 
absence, or coldness, in our home and on our hearth, 
then, even if we prosper without, It Is dark indeed 
within ! It is not seldom that we can trace alienation 
and dissipation to this source. If no wife or sister care 
for him who returns from his toil, well may he despair 
of life's best blessings. Without home friends, 
Home Is nothing but a name. 

The sweetest type of heaven is home — nay, 
heaven Itself is the home for whose acquisition we 
are to strive the most strongly. Home, in one form 



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HOME, 






57 



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and another, is the great object of life. It stands at 
the end of every day's labor, and beckons us to its 
bosom ; and life would be cheerless and meaning-less 
did we not discern, across the river that divides it from 
the life beyond, glimpses of the pleasant mansions 
prepared for us. 

Heaven! that land of quiet rest — toward which 
^>^-^,^ those, who, worn down and tired with the toils of 
earth, direct their frail barks over the troubled waters 
of life, and after a long and dangerous passage, find 
it — safe in the haven of eternal bliss. Heaven is 
the /i07ne that awaits us beyond the grave. There 
the friendships formed on earth, and which cruel 
death has severed, are never more to be broken ; and 
parted friends shall meet again, never more to be 
separated. 

It is an inspiring hope that, when we separate here 
on earth at the summons of death's angel, and when 
a few more years have rolled over the heads of those 
remaining, if ''faithful unto death," we shall meet 
again in heaven, our eternal home, there to dwell in 
the presence of our Heavenly Father, and go no more 
out forever. 

At the best estate, we are only pilgrims and 
strangers. Heaven is to be our eternal home. Death 
- will never knock at the door of that mansion, and in 
all that land there will not be a single grave. 
Aged parents rejoice very much when on Christmas 
Day or Thanksgiving Day they have their children at 
home ; but there is almost always a son or a daughter 
absent— absent from the country, perhaps absent 







V 




HOME. 



from the world. But Oh, how our Heavenly Father 
will rejoice in the long thanksgiving day of heaven, 
when He has all His children with Him in glory ! 
How glad brothers and sisters will be to meet after 
so long a separation ! Perhaps a score of years ago 
they parted at the door of the tomb. Now they 
meet again at the door of immortality. Once they 
looked through a glass darkly. Now, face to face, 
corruption, incorruption — mortality, immortatlity. 
Where are now all their sorrows and temptations and 
trials ? Overwhelmed in the Red Sea of death, while 
they, dry-shod, marched into glory. Gates of jasper 
cap-stone of amethyst ! Thrones of dominion do not 
so much affect my soul as the thought of home. Once 
there, let earthly sorrows howl like storms and roll 
like seas. Home ! Let thrones rot and empires 
wither. Home ! Let the world die in earthquake 
struggles and be buried amid procession of planets 
and dirge of spheres. Home ! Let everlasting ages 
roll in irresistible sweep. Home ! No sorrow, no 
crying, no tears, no death ; but home ! sweet home ! 
Beautiful home ! Glorious home ! Everlasting 
home ! Home with each other ! Home with angels ! 
Home with God ! Home, Home ! Through the rich 
grace of Christ Jesus, may we all reach it. 




^ 



FAMILY WORSHIP. 




A PRAYERLESS family cannot be otherwise than 
irreligious. They who daily pray in their homes, do 
well ; they that not only pray, but read the Bible, do 
b^ter; but they do best of all, who not only pray 
and read the Bible, but sing the praises of God. 

What scene can be more lovely on earth, more like 
the heavenly home, and more pleasing to God, than 
that of a pious family kneeling with one accord around 
the home-altar, and uniting their supplications to their 
Father in heaven ! How sublime the act of those 
parents who thus pray for the blessing of God upon 
their household ! How lovely the scene of a pious 
mother gathering her little ones around her at the 
>edside, and teaching them the privilege of prayetl 
And what a safeguard is this devotion, against all the 
machinations of Satan ! 

It is this which makes home a type of heaven, the 
dwelling place of God. The family altar is heaven's 
threshold. And happy are those children who at that 
altar have been consecrated by a father's blessing, 
baptised by a mother's tears, and borne up to heaven 
upon their joint petitions, as a voluntary thank-offer- 
ing to God. The home that has honored God with 
an altar of devotion may well be called blessed. 

The influence of family worship is great, silent, 
irresistible and permanent. Like the calm, deep 
stream, it moves on in silent, but overwhelming power. 
It strikes its roots deep into the human heart, and 




FAMILY WORSHIP. 









Spreads its branches wide over the whole being, like 
the lily that braves the tempest, and the Alpine flower 
that leans its cheek upon the bosom of eternal snows 
— it is exerted amid the wildest storms of life, and 
breathes a softening spell in our bosom, even when a 
heartless world is drying up the fountains of sympa- 
thy and love. 

It affords home security and happiness, removes 
family friction, and causes all the complicated wheels 
of the home-machinery to move on noiselessly and 
smoothly. It promotes union and harmony, expunges 
all selfishness, allays petulant feelings and turbulent 
passions, destroys peevishness of temper and makes 
home intercourse holy and delightful. It causes the 
members to reciprocate each other's affections, hushes 
the voice of recrimination, and exerts a softening and 
harmonizing influence over each heart. The dew of 
Heaven falls upon the home where prayer is wont to 
be made. Its members enjoy the good and the pleas- 
antness of dwelling together in unity. It gives tone 
and intensity to their affections and sympathies ; it 
throws a sunshine around their hopes and interests ; 
it increases their happiness, and takes away the poig- 
nancy of their grief and sorrow. It availeth much, 
therefore, both for time and eternity. Its voice has 
sent many a poor prodigal home to his father's house. 
Its answer has often been, ''This man was born 
there!" The child, kneeling beside the pious mother, 
and pouring forth its infant prayer to God, must 
attract the notice of the heavenly host, and receive, 
into its soul the power of a new life. 




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FAMILY WORSHIP. 



61 




C^: 



But in order to do this, the worship must be regu- 
lar and devout, and the whole family eng-ag-e in it. 
Some families are not careful to have their children 
present when they worship. This is very wrong. 
The children, above all others, are benefited, and 
should always be present. Some do not teach the 
children to kneel during prayer, and hence, they 
awkwardly sit in their seats, while the parents kneel. 
This is a sad mistake. If they do not kneel, they 
naturally suppose they have no part or lot in the 
devotions, and soon feel that it is wrong for them to 
bow before the Lord. We have seen many cases 
where grown up sons and daughters have never bent 
the knee before the Lord, and thought it wrong to 
kneel till they were Christians. In this way they 
were made more shy and stubborn, and felt that there 
was an impassable barrier between them and Christ. 
This feeling is wrong, and unnecessary. If family %^v^ 
worship had been rightly observed, they would have 
felt that they were very near the Savior, and would 
easily be incHned to give their hearts to him. Indeed, 
children thus trained, seldom grow to maturity without 
becoming practical Christians. 

Family worship in itself embodies a hallowing influ- 
ence that pleads for its observance. It must needs be 
that trials will enter a household. The conflict of 
wishes, the clashing of views, and a thousand other 
causes, will ruffle the temper, and produce jar and 
friction in the machinery of the family. There is 
needed, then, some daily agency that shall softly 
enfold the homestead with its hallowed and soothing 



Md 









62 



FAMILY WORSHIP. 



power, and restore the fine, harmonious play of its 
various parts. The father needs that which shall 
gently lift away from his thoughts the disquieting 
burden of his daily business. The mother that which 
shall smooth down the fretting irritation of her un- 
ceasing toil and trial ; and the child and domestic that 
which shall neutralize the countless agencies of evil 
that ever beset them. And what so well adapted to 
do this, as for all to gather, when the day is done, 
around the holy page, and pour a united supplication 
and acknowledgment to that sleepless Power, whose 
protection and scrutiny are ever around their path, 
and who will bring all things at last into judgment ? 
And when darker and sadder days begin to shadow 
the home, what can cheer and brighten the sinking 
heart so much as resort to that fatherly One who can 
make the tears of the loneliest sorrow to be the seed- 
pearls of the brightest crown? See what home becomes 
with religion as its life and rule ! Human nature is 
there checked and molded by the amiable spirit and 
lovely character of Jesus. The mind is expanded, 
the heart softened, sentiments refined, passions sub- 
dued, hopes elevated, pursuits ennobled, the world 
cast into the shade, and heaven realized as the first 
prize. The great want of our intellectual and moral 
nature is here met, and home education becomes im- 
pregnated with the spirit and elements of our prepara- 
tion for eternity. 

Compare an irreligious home with this, and see the 
vast importance of family worship. It is a moral 
waste ; its members move in the putrid atmosphere 



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FAMILY WORSHIP. 



63 



of vitiated feeling and misdirected power. Brutal 
passions become dominant ; we hear the stern voice 
of parental despotism ; we behold a scene of filial strife 
and insubordination ; there is throughout a heart- 
blank. Domestic life becomes clouded by a thousand 
crosses and disappointments ; the solemn realities of 
the eternal world are cast into the shade ; the home- 
conscience and feeling become stultified ; the sense of 
moral duty distorted, and all the true interests of 
home appear in a haze. Natural affection is debased, 
and love is prostituted to the base designs of self, and 
the entire family, with all its tender chords, ardent 
hopes, and promised Interests, becomes engulfed In 
the vortex of criminal worldliness ! 

Family worship is included In the necessities of our 
children, and in the covenant promises of God. The 
)enalties of its neglect, and the rewards of our faithful- 
Less to it, should prompt us to Its establishment 
our homes. Its absence is a curse ; its presence a 
blessing. It Is a foretaste of heaven. Like manna, 
it will feed our souls, quench our thirst, sweeten 
the cup of life, and shed a halo of glory and of glad- 
ness around our firesides. Let yours, therefore, be 
the religious home ; and then be sure that God will 
delight to dwell therein, and His blessing will 
descend upon it. Your children shall ''not be found 
begging bread," but shall be like ''olive plants around 
your table," — the "heritage of the Lord." Yours will 
be the home of love and harmony ; It shall have the 
charter of family rights and privileges, the ward of 
family interests, the palladium of family hopes and 



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fn->^^^^^ 






happiness. Your household piety will be the crowning 
attribute of your peaceful home, — the living stars 
that shall adorn the night of its tribulation, and the 
pillar of cloud and of fire in its pilgrimage to a ''better 
country." It shall strew the family threshold with the 
flowers of promise, and enshrine the memory of loved 
ones gone before, in all the fragrance of that ''blessed 
hope" of reunion in heaven which looms up from a 
dying hour. It shall give to the infant soul its 
"perfect flowering," and expand it in all the fullness 
of a generous love and conscious blessedness, making 
it "lustrous in the livery of divine knowledge." And 
then in the dark hour of home separation and bereave- 
ment, when the question is put to you, mourning 
parents, "Is it well with the child? is it well with 
thee?" you can answer with joy, "It is well!" 



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Our nature demands home. It is the first estsen- 
tial element of our social being. This cannot be 
complete without the home relations; there would be 
no proper equilibrium of life and character without 
the home influence. The heart, when bereaved and 
disappointed, naturally turns for refuge to home-life 
and sympathy. No spot is so attractive to the weary 
one ; it is the heart's moral oasis. There is a mother's 
watchful love and a father's sustaining influence; 



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A FATHER'S ADVICE TO HIS SON 

A Father's sustaining influence uncovers the moral fountain, chooses its channel, 
gives the stream its first impulse. It makes the first stamp and sets the 
first seal upon the plastic nature of the child. (Page 65.) 



and 




A GOOD DAUGHTER IS THE LIGHT OF HER PARENTS' 

HOUSE 

To the father she is the morning sunlight and his evening star. He 

scarcely knows wearinoss which her song does not make 

him forget, or gloom which is proof against the 

brightness of her young smile. (Page 92.) 



'X. 



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HOME INFLUENCE. 



66 






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there is a husband's protection and a wife's tender 
sympathy ; there is the circle of loving brothers and 
sisters — happy in each other's love. Oh, what is 
life without these ! A desolation, a painful, gloomy 
pilgrimage through ''desert heaths and barren sands." 

Home influence may be estimated from the immense 
force of its impressions. It is the prerogative of|^, 
home to make the first impression upon our nature, 
and to give that nature its first direction onward and 
upward. It uncovers the moral fountain, chooses its 
channel, and gives the stream its first impulse. It 
makes the ''first stamp and sets the first seal" upon 
the plastic nature of the child. It gives the first tone 
to our desires and furnishes ingredients that will 
either sweeten or embitter the whole cup of life. 
These impressions are indelible and durable as life. 
Compared with them, other impressions are like those 
made upon sand or wax. These are like "the deep 
borings into the flinty rock." To erase them we 
must remove every stratum of our being. Even the 
infidel lives under the holy influence of a pious moth- 
er's impressions. John Randolph could never shake 
off the restraining Influence of a little prayer his 
mother taught him when a child. It preserved him 
from the clutches of avowed infidelity. 

The home Influence Is either a blessing or a curse, 
either for good or for evil. It cannot be neutral. 
In either case it Is mighty, commencing with our 
bi] th, going with us through life, clinging to us in 
death, and reaching into the eternal world. It is 
that unltlve power which arises out of the manifold 




I 



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relations and associations of domestic life. The spe- 
cific influences of husband and wife, of parent and 
child, of brother and sister, of teacher and pupil, 
united and harmoniously blended, constitute the home 
influence. 

From this we may infer the character of home 
influence. It is great, silent, irresistible and perma- 
nent. Like the calm, deep stream, it moves on in 
silent, but overwhelming power. It strikes its roots 
deep into the human heart, and spreads its branches 
wide over our whole being. It is exerted amid the 
wildest storms of life and breathes a softening spell 
in our bosom even when a heartless world is freezing 
up the fountains of sympathy and love. It is govern- 
ing, restraining, attracting and traditional. It holds 
the empire of the heart and rules the life. It restrains 
the wayward passions of the child and checks him in 
his mad career of ruin. 

Our habits, too, are formed under the molding 
power of home. The *' tender twig" is there bent, 
the spirit shaped, principles implanted, and the whole 
character is formed until it becomes a habit. Good- 
ness or evil are there ''resolved into necessity." 
Who does not feel this influence of home upon all 
his habits of life ? The gray-haired father who wails 
in his second infancy feels the traces of his childhood 
home in his spirit, desires and habits. Ask the 
strong man in the prime of life whether the most firm 
and reliable principles of his character were not the 
inheritance of a parental home. 

The most illustrious statesmen, the most distin- 



^^. 






HOME INFLUENCE. 




guished warriors, the most eloquent ministers, and the 
greatest benefactors of human kind, owe their great- 
ness to the fostering influence of home. Napoleon 
knew and felt this when he said, ''What France wants 
is good mothers, and you may be sure then that 
France will have good sons." The homes of the 
American revolution made the men of the revolution. 
Their influence reaches yet far into the inmost frame 
and constitution of our glorious republic. It controls 
the fountains of her power, forms the character of 
her citizens and statesmen, and shapes our destiny as 
a people. Did not the Spartan mother and her home 
give character to the Spartan nation ? Her lessons 
to her child infused the iron nerve into the heart of 
that nation, and caused her sons, in the wild tumult 
of battle, ''either to live behind their shields, or to 
^j^e upon them !" Her influence fired them, 
^'^i^ patriotism which was stronger than deatj 

been hallowed by the pure spirit and principles of 
Christianity what a power of good it would have 
been ! 

But alas ! the home of an Aspasia had not the 
heart and ornaments of the Christian family. Though 
"the monuments of Cornelia's virtues were the char- 
acter of her children," yet these were not "the orna^ 
ments of a quiet spirit." Had the central heart ot 
the Spartan home been that of the Christian mother, 
the Spartan nation would now perhaps adorn the 
brightest page of history. 

Home, in all well c( instituted minds, is always asso- 
ciated with moral and social excellence. The higher 




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V 




68 



HOME INFLUENCE. 



men rise In the scale of being-, the more important 
and Interesting is home. The Arab or forest man 
may care Httle for his home, but the Christian man of 
cultured heart and developed mind will love his home, 
and generally love it in proportion to his moral worth. 
He knows It Is the planting-ground or every seed of 
morality — the garden of virtue, and the nursery of 
religion. He knows that souls immortal are here 
trained for the skies ; that private worth and public 
character are made in its sacred retreat. To love 
home with a deep and abiding Interest, with a view 
to its elevating Influence, is to love truth and right, 
heaven and God. 

Our life abroad is but a reflex of what It Is at 
home. We make ourselves In a great measure at 
home. This Is especially true of woman. The woman 
who is rude, coarse and vulgar at home, cannot be 
expected to be amiable, chaste and refined in the 
world. Her home habits will stick to her. She can- 
not shake them off. They are woven Into the web 
of her life. Her home language will be first on her 
tongue. Her home by-words will come out to mortify 
her just when she wants most to hide them In her 
heart. Her home vulgarities will show their hideous 
forms to shock her most when she wants to appear 
her best. Her home coarseness will appear most 
when she Is In the most refined circles, and appearing 
there will abash her more than elsewhere. All her 
home habits will follow her. They have become a 
sort of second nature to her. It Is much the same 
with men. It Is indeed there that every man must 






HOME INFLUENCE. 






be known by those who would make a just estimate 
either of his virtue or feHcity ; for smiles and embroid- 
ery are alike occasional, and the mind is often dressed 
for show in painted honor and fictitious benevolence. 
Every young woman should feel that just what she is 
wat home she will appear abroad. If she attempts to 
I appear otherwise, everybody will soon see through 
the attempt. We cannot cheat the world long about 
our real characters. The thickest and most opaque 
mask we can put on will soon become transparent. 
This fact we should believe without a doubt. Decep- 
tion most often deceives itself The deceiver is the 
most deceived. The liar is often the only one cheated. 
The young woman who pretends to what she is not, 
believes her pretense is not understood. Other peo- 
ple laugh in their sleeves at her foolish pretensions. 
- Every young woman should early form in her mind 
an ideal of a i(rue home. It should not be the ideal of 
a place^ but of the character of home. Place does 
not constitute home. Many a gilded palace and scene 
of luxury is not a home. Many a flower-girt dwell- 
ing and splendid mansion lacks all the essentials of 
home. A hovel is often more a home than a palace. 
If the spirit of the congenial friendship link not the 
hearts of the inmates of a dwelling it is not a home. 
If love reign not there ; if charity spread not her 
downy mantle over all ; if peace prevail not ; if con- 
tentment be not a meek and merry dweller therein ; 
if virtue rear not her beautiful children, and religion 
come not in her white robe of gentleness to lay her 
hand in benediction on every head, the home is not 



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HOME INFLUENCE. 

complete. We are all in the habit of building for our- 
selves ideal homes. But they are generally made up 
of outward things — a house, a garden, a carriage, 
and the ornaments and appendages of luxury. And 
if, in our lives, we do not realize our ideas, we make 
ourselves miserable and our friends miserable. Half 
the women in our country are unhappy because their 
homes are not so luxurious as they wish. 

The grand idea of home is a quiet, secluded spot, 
where loving hearts dwell, set apart and dedicated to 
improvement — to intellectual and moral improvement. 
It is not a formal school of staid solemnity and rigid 
discipline, where virtue is made a task and progress a 
sharp necessity, but a free and easy exercise of all 
our spiritual limbs, in which obedience is a pleasure, 
discipline a joy, improvement a self-wrought delight. 
All the duties and labors of home, when rightly 
understood, are so many means of improvement. 
Even the trials of home are so many rounds in the 
ladder of spiritual progress, if we but make them so. 
It is not merely by speaking to children about spirit- 
ual things that you win them over. If that be all you 
do, it will accomplish nothing, less than nothing. It 
Is the sentiments which they hear at home, it is the 
maxims which rule your daily conduct — the likings 
and dislikings which you express — the whole regula- 
tions of the household, in dress, and food, and furni- 
ture—the recreations you indulge — the company you 
keep — the style of your reading — the whole com- 
plexion of daily life — this creates the element in 
^hich your children are either growing in grace, and 





preparing- for an eternity of glory — or they are learn- 
ing to live without God, and to die without hope. 



"^'-^^^'^" 



l«tii^ ^iiitiMitietit^^ 






^VE been told by men, who had passed un- 
H&^m0ci through the temptations of youth, that they 
owed their escape from many dangers to the intimate 
companionship of affectionate and pure-minded sis- 
ters. They have been saved from a hazardous meet- 
ing with idle company by some home engagement, of 
which their sisters were the charm ; they have 
refrained from mixing with the impure, because they 
would not bring home thoughts and feelings which 

y could not share with those trusting and 
riends ; they have put aside the wine-^clj^ . 
abstained from stronger potations, because they would 
not profane with their fumes the holy kiss, with which 
they were accustomed to bid their sisters good-night." 
A proper amount of labor, well-spiced with sunny 
sports, is almost absolutely necessary to the formation 
of a firm, hardy, physical constitution, and a cheerful 
and happy mind. Let all youth not only learn to 
choose and enjoy proper amusements, but let them 
learn to invent them at home, and use them there, 
and thus form ideas of such homes as they shall wish 
to have their own children enjoy. Not half the 
people know how to make a home. It is one of the 
greatest and most useful studies of life to learn how 




I 



72 



HOME AMUSEMENTS. 



to make a home — such a home as men, and women, 
and children should dwell in. It is a study that 
should be early introduced to the attention of youth. 
It would be well if books were written upon this most 
interesting subject, giving „ many practical rules and 
hints, with a long chapter on Amuseme^its. 

That was a good remark of Seneca, when he said, 
''Great is he who enjoys his earthen-ware as if it 
were plate, and not less great is the man to whom 
all his plate is no more than earthen-ware." Every 
home should be cheerful. Innocent joy should reign 
in every heart. There should be domestic amuse- 
ments, fireside pleasures, quiet and simple it may be, 
but such as shall make home happy, and not leave it 
that irksome place which will oblige the youthful 
spirit to look elsewhere for joy. There are a thous- 
and unobtrusive ways in which we may add to the 
cheerfulness of home. The very modulations of the 
voice will often make a wonderful difference. How 
many shades of feeling are expressed by the voice ! 
what a change comes over us at the change of its 
tones ! No delicately tuned harpstring can awaken 
more pleasure ; no grating discord can pierce with 
more pain. 

Let parents talk much and talk Veil at home. A 
father who is habitually silent in his own house, may 
be in many respects a wise man ; but he is not wise 
in his silence. We sometimes see parents, who are 
the life of every company which they enter, dull, 
silent and uninteresting at home among the children. 
If they have not mental activity and mental stories 





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^T^ 









HOME AMUSEMENTS. 



sufficient for both, let them first provide for their own 
household. Ireland exports beef and wheat, and 
lives on potatoes ; and they fare as poorly who 
reserve their social charms for companions abroad, 
and keep their dullness for home consumption. It is 
, better to instruct children and make them happy at 
home, than it is to charm strangers or amuse friends^. 
A silent house is a dull place for young people, k 
place from which they will escape if they can . They 
will talk of being ''shut up" there; and the youth 
who does not love home is in danger. 

The true mother loves to see her son come home 
to her. He may be almost as big as her house ; a 
whiskerando, with as much hair on his face as would 
stuff her arm chair, and she may be a mere shred of 
a woman; but he's ''her boy;" and if he grew twice 
as big he'd be "her boy " still ; aye, and if he take 
unto himself a wife, he's her boy still, for all that. 
She does not believe a word of the old rhyme — 

" Your son is your son till he gets him a wife ; 
But your daughter's your daughter all the days of her life." 

And what will bring our boys back to our home- 
steads, but our making those homesteads pleasant 
to them in their youth. Let us train a few roses 
on the humble wall, and their scent and beauty will 
be long remembered ; and many a lad, instead of 
going to a spree, will turn to his old bed, and return 
to his work again, strengthened, invigorated, and 
refreshed, instead of battered, weakened, and, per- 
haps, disgraced. 




;S 




HOME<-AMUSEMENTS. 




Fathers, mothers, remember this : and if you would 
not have your children lost to you in after-life — if 
you would have your married daughters not forget 
their old home in the new one — if you would have 
your sons lend a hand to keep you in the old rose- 
covered cottage, instead of letting you go to the 
naked walls of a workhouse — make home happy to 
them when they are young. Send them out into the 
world in the full belief that there is ''no place like 
home," aye, /'be it ever so humble." And even if the 
old home should, in the course of time, be pulled 
down, or be lost to your children, it will still live in 
their memories. The kind looks, and kind words, 
and thoughtful love of those who once inhabited it, 
will not pass away. Your home will be like the 
poet's vase — 




You may break, you may ruin, the vase if you will, 
But the scent of the roses will cling to it still." 



Music is an accomplishment usually valuable as a 
home enjoyment, as rallying round the piano the 
various members of a family, and harmonizing their 
hearts, as w^ell as their voices, particularly in devo- 
tional strains. We know no more agreeable and 
interesting spectacle than that of brothers and sisters 
playing and singing together those elevated composi- 
tions in music and poetry which gratify the taste and 
purify the heart, while their parents sit delighted by. 
We have seei^ and heard an elder sister thus leading 
the family choir, who was the soul of harmony to the 
whole household, and whose life was a perfect exan^- 







pie. Parents should not fail to consider the ^s^reat 
value of home music. Buy a good instrument and 
teach your family to sing and play, then they can 
produce sufficient amusement at home themselves so 
that the sons will not think of looking elsewhere for 
it, and thus often be led into dens of vice and immor- 
ality. The reason that so many become dissipated 
^nd run to everyplace of amusement, no matter what 
its character, making every effort possible to get 
away from home at night, is the lack of entertain- 
ment at home. 



^-^ Young men! you are wanted. From the5^tf*egf=^ 
corners, from the saloons and playhouses^, Trom the 
loafers' rendezvous, from the idlers' promenade, turn 
your steps into the highway of noble aim and earnest 
work. There are prizes enough for every successful 
worker, crowns enough for every honorable head that 
goes through the smoke of conflict to victory. 

There is within the young man an upspringing of 
lofty sentiment which contributes to his elevation, and 
though there are obstacles to be surmounted and 
difficulties to be vanquished, yet with truth for his 
watch-word, and leaning on his own noble purposes 
and indefatigable exertions, he may crown his brow 
with imperishable honors. He may never wear the 
v«arrior's crimson wreath, the poet's chaplet of bays, 




"^^;3 





or the stateman's laurels ; though no grand universal 
truth may at his bidding stand confessed to the world, 
— though it may never be his to bring to a successful 
issue a great political revolution — to be the founder 
of a republic, whose name shall be a "distinguished 
star in the constellation of nations," — yea, more, 
though his name may never be heard beyond the 
narrow limits of his own neighborhood, yet is his 
mission none the less a high and holy one. 

In the moral and physical world, not only the field 
of battle, but also the consecrated cause of truth and 
virtue calls for champions, and the field for doing 
good is ''white unto the harvest," and if he enlists in 
the ranks, and his spirit faints net, he may write his 
name among the stars of heavcu. Beautiful lives 
have blossomed in the darkest places, as pure white 
lilies full of fragrance on the slimy, stagnant waters. 
No possession is so productive of real influence as a 
highly cultivated intellect. Wealth, birth, and official 
station may and do secure to their possessors an 
external, superficial courtesy ; but they never did, and 
they never can, command the reverence of the heart. 
It is only to the man of large and noble soul, to him 
who blends a cultivated mind with an upright heart, 
that men yield the tribute of deep and genuine respect. 

But why do so few young men of early promise, 
whose hopes, purposes, and resolves were as radiant 
as the colors of the rainbow, fail to distinguish them^ 
selves ? The answer is obvious ; they are not willing 
to devote themselves to that toilsome culture which is 
the p\\ce of great success. Whatever aptitude for 



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TO YOUNG MEN. 



particular pursuits nature may donate to her favorite 
children, she conducts none but the laborious and the 
studious to distinction. 

God puts the oak In the forest, and the pine on its 
sand and rocks, and says to men, ''There are your 
^-hoirses ; go hew, saw, frame, build, make. God makes 
the trees ; men must build the house. God suppHes 
the timber ; men must construct the ship. God buries 
iron in the heart of the earth; men must dig It, and 
smelt it, and fashion it. What Is useful for the body, 
3.nd, still more, what is useful for the mind, is to be 
had only by exertion — exertion that will work mxen 
jnore than iron Is wrought — that will shape men 
more than timber is shaped. 

Great men have ever been, men of thought as well 
as men of action. As the magnificent river, rolling 
in the pride of Its mighty waters, owes its greatness 
to the hidden springs of the mountain nook, so does 
the wide-sweeping influence of distinguished men 
date its origin from hours of privacy, resolutely 
employed in efforts after self-development. The 
invisible spring of self-culture is the source of every 
great achievement. 

Away, then, young man, with all dreams of superi- 
ority, unless you are determined to dig after knowl- 
edge, as men search for concealed gold ! Remember, 
that every man has in himself the seminal principle of 
great excellence, and he. may develop it by cultivation 
if he will TRY. Perhaps you are what the world calls 
poor. What of that? Most of the men whose 
names are as household words were also the children 



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78 



TO YOUNG MEN. 



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of poverty. Captain Cook, the circumnavigator of 
the globe, was born In a mud hut, and started in Hfe 
as a cabin boy. Lord Eldon, who sat on the wool- 
sack in the British parliament for nearly half a century, 
was the son of a coal merchant. Franklin, the phi- 
losopher, diplomatist, and statesman, was but a poor 
printer's boy, whose highest luxury at one time, was 
only a penny roll, eaten in the streets of Philadelphia. 
Ferguson, the profound philosopher, was son of a 
half-starved weaver. Johnson, Goldsmith, Coleridge, 
and multitudes of others of high distinction, knew the 
pressure of limited circumstances, and have demon- 
strated that poverty even is no insuperable obstacle 
to success. 

Up, then, young man, and gird yourself for the 
work of self-cultivation ! Set a high price on your 
leisure moments. They are sands of precious gold. 
Properly expended, they will procure for you a stock 
of great thoughts — thoughts that will fill, stir and 
invigorate, and expand the soul. Seize also on the 
unparalleled aids furnished by steam and type in this 
unequaled age. 

The great thoughts of great men are now to be 
procured at prices almost nominal. You can, there- 
fore, easily collect a library of choice standard works. 
But above all, learn to reflect even more than you 
read. Without thought, books are the sepulchre of 
the soul, — they only immure it. Let thought and 
reading go hand in hand, and the intellect will rapidly 
increase in strength and gifts. Its possessor will rise 
in character, in power, and in positive influence. A 



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great deal of talent is lost In the world for the want 
of a little courage. Every day sends to the grave a 
number of obscure men, who have only remained in 
obscurity because their timidity has prevented them 
from making- a first effort ; and who, if they could 
have been induced to begin, would, in all probability, 
have gone great lengths in the career of fame. The 
feet is, that to do anything in this world worth doing, 
%re must not stand back, shivering, and thinking of the 
cold and the danger, but jump in and scramble through 
as well as we can. It will not do to be perpetually 
calculating tasks, and adjusting nice chances ; it did 
very well before the flood, where a man could consult 
his friends upon an intended publication for a hun- 
dred and fifty years, and then live to see its success 
afterward ; but at present a man waits and doubts, 

id hesitates, and consults his brother, and hi&rUncle, 
and particular friends, till, one fine day, hei:^"nds thaf 
he is sixty years of age ; that he has lost so much 
time in consulting his first cousin and particular friends, 
that he has no more time to follow their advice. 

Man is born to dominion, but he must enter it by 
conquest, and continue to do battle for every inch of 
ground added to his sway. His first exertions are 
put forth for the acquisition of the control and the 
establishment of the authority of his own will. With 
his first efforts to reduce his own physical powers to 
subjection, he must simultaneously begin to subject 
his mental faculties to control. Through the com- 
bined exertion of his mental and physical powers, he 
labors to spread his dominion over the widest possible 
extent of the w< 




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Thus self-control and control over outward circum- 
stances are alike the duty and the birthright of man. 
But self-control is the highest and noblest form of 
dominion. ''He that ruleth his own spirit is greater 
than he that taketh a city." 

If you intend to marry, if you think your happiness 
will be increased and your interests advanced by 
matrimony, be sure and ''look where you're %alngi" 
Join yourself in union with no woman who is selfish, 
for she will sacrifice you ; with no one who is fickle, 
for she will become estranged ; have naught to do 
with a proud one, for she will ruin you. Leave a 
coquette to the fools who flutter around her ; let her 
own fireside accommodate a scold ; and flee from a 
woman who loves scandal, as you would flee from the 
evil one. " Look where your going" will sum it all up. 

Gaze not on beauty too much, lest it blast thee ; 
nor too long, lest it blind thee ; nor too near, lest it 
burn thee: if thou like it, it deceives thee; if thou 
love it, it disturbs thee ; if thou lust after it, it destroys 
thee ; if virtue accompany it, it is the heart's paradise ; 
if vice associate it, it is the soul's purgatory ; it is the 
wise man's bonfire, and the fool's furnace. The God- 
less youth is infatuated by a fair face, and is lured to 
his fate by a siren's smile. He takes no counsel of 
the Lord and is left to follow his own shallow fancies 
or the instigations of his passions. The time will 
surely come in his life when he will not so much want 
a pet as a heroine. In dark and trying days, when 
the waves of misfortune are breaking over him, and 
one home comfort, and another, and another is swept 



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away, the piano — the grand instrument — gone to 
the creditors, the family turned out on the sidewalk 
by the heartless landlord, then what is the wife good 
for if her lips that accompanied the piano in song, 
cannot lift alone the notes, ''Jesus, lover of my 
,£seui ?" The strongest arm in this world is not the 
arm of .,a blacksmith, nor the arm of a giant ; it is the 
ar7n of o. zvoman, when God has put into it, through^ 
faith and submission to his will, his own moral omnip- 
otence. If there is one beautiful spot on earth, it is 
the home of the young family consecrated by piety, 
the abode of the Holy Spirit, above which the hover- 
ing angels touch their wings, forming a canopy of 
protection and sanctity. 

There is no moral object so beautiful as a con- 
scientious young man. We watch him as we do a 
star in the heavens; clouds maybe before him, but 
we know that his light is behind them and will beam 
again ; the blaze of other's popularity may outshine 
him, but we know that, though unseen, he illuminates 
his own true sphere. He resists temptation, not with- 
out a struggle, for that is not virtue, but he does 
resist and conquer ; he bears the sarcasm of the 
profligate, and it stings him, for that is a trait of 
virtue, but he heals the wound with his own pure 
touch. He heeds not the watchword of fashion if it 
leads to sin ; the Atheist, who says not only in his 
heart, but with his lips, ''There is no God!" controls 
him not; he sees the hand of a creating God, and 
rejoices in it. Woman is sheltered by fond arms and 
loving counsel; old age is protected by its experience, 
6 




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82 



TO YOUNG MEN. 



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and manhood by its strength ; but the young man 
stands amid the temptations of the world hke a seh- 
balanced tower. Happy he who seeks and gains the 
prop and shelter of morality. Onward, then, con- 
scientious youth — raise thy standard and nerve thy- 
self for goodness. If God has given thee intellect- 
ual power, awaken in that cause ; never let it be said 
of thee, he helped to swell the tide of sin by pouring 
his influence into its channels. If thou art feeble in 
mental strength, throw not that drop into a polluted 
current. Awake, arise, young man ! assume that 
beautiful garb of virtue ! It is difficult to be pure 
and holy. Put on thy strength, then. Let truth be 
the lady of thy love — defend her. 

A young man came to an aged professor of a dis- 
tinguished continental university, with a smiling face, 
and informed him that the long and fondly cherished 
desire of his heart was at length fulfilled — his parents 
had given their consent to his studying the profession 
of the law. For some time he continued explaining 
how he would spare no labor or expense in perfecting 
his education. When he paused, the old man, who 
had been listening to him with great patience and 
kindness, gently said, "Well! and when you have 
finished your studies, what do you mean to do then ?" 
''Then I shall take my degree," answered the young 
man. "And then ?" asked the venerable friend. "And 
then," continued the youth, "I shall have a number of 
difficult cases, and shall attract notice, and win a great 
reputation." "And then?" repeated the holy man. 
"Why, then," replied the youth, "I shall doubtless 



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TO VOUNC; WOMEN, 



83 



be promoted to some hicrh office In the State." "And 
then?" ''And then," pursued the young- lawyer, "I 
shall live in honor and wealth, and look forward to a 
happy old age." ''And then?" repeated the old man. 
"And then," said the youth, "and then — and then — 
and then I shall die." Here the venerable listener 
lifted up his voice, and again asked, with solemnity 
and emphasis, "And then?" Whereupon the aspiring 
student made no answer, and cast down his head, and 
in silence and thoughtfulness retired. The last "And 
then ?" had pierced his heart like a sword, had made 
an impression v/hich he could not dislodge. 



w 



What is womanhood? Is there any more impor- 
tant question for young women to consider than this 
It should be the highest ambition of every young 
woman to possess a true womanhood. Earth presents 
no higher object of attainment. To be a woman, in 
the truest and highest sense of the word, is to be the 
best thing beneath the skies. To be a woman is 
something more than to live eighteen or twenty 
years ; something more than to grow to the physical 
stature of women ; something more than to wear 
flounces, exhibit dry-goods, sport jewelry, catch the 
gaze of lewd-eyed men ; something more than to be 
a belle, a wife, or a mother. Put all these qualifica- 
tions together and they do but little toward making 
a true woman. 




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Beauty and style are not the surest passports to 
womanhood — some of the noblest specimens of 
womanhood that the world has ever seen, have pre- 
sented the plainest and most unprepossessing appear- 
ance. A woman's worth is to be estimated by the 
real goodness of her heart, the greatness of her soul, 
and the purity and sweetness of her character; and 
a woman with a kindly disposition and well-balanced 
temper, is both lovely and attractive, be her face ever 
so plain, and her figure ever so homely ; she makes 
the best of wives and the truest of mothers. She 
has a higher purpose in living than the beautiful, yet iS' 




vain and supercilious woman, who has no higher ambi- 
tion than to flaunt her finery on the street, or to 
gratify her inordinate vanity by extracting flattery' 
and praise from society, whose compliments are as 
hollow as they are insincere. 

Beauty is a dangerous gift. It is even so. Like 
wealth it has ruined its thousands. Thousands of 
the most beautiful women are destitute of common 
sense and common humanity. No gift from heaven 
is so general and so widely abused by woman as the 
gift of beauty. In about nine cases in ten it makes her 
silly, senseless, thoughtless, giddy, vain, proud, frivo- 
lous, selfish, low and mean. "She is beautiful, and 
she knows it," is as much as to say she is spoiled. 
A beautiful girl is very likely to believe she was made 
to be looked at ; and so she sets herself up for a 
show at every window, in every door, on every corner 
of the street, in every company at which opportunity 
offers for an exhibition of herself. And believing 



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and acting- thus, she soon becomes good for nothing 
else, and when she comes to be a middle-aged 
woman she is that weakest, most sickening of all 
human things — a faded beauty. 

These facts have long since taught sensible men 
/r4;0^/1beware of beautiful women — to sound them 
carefuUj^Pjbefore they give them their confider^ 
Beauty is shallow ---only skin-deep; fleeting — only 
for a few years' reign; dangerous — tempting to 
vanity and lightness of mind; deceitful — dazzling 
often to bewilder; weak — reigning only to ruin; 
gross — leading often to sensual pleasure. And yet 
we say it need not be so. Beauty is lovely and 
ought to be innocently possessed. It has charms 
which ought to be used for good purposes. It is a 
delightful gift, which ought to be received with ^ 
^^g'ratitude and worn with grace, and rneekhess. |J^;_ 
should always minister to inward Beauty. Every^'' 
woman of beautiful form and features should cultivate 
a beautiful mind and heart. 

Young women ought to hold a steady moral sway 
over their male associates, so strong as to prevent 
them from becoming such lawless rowdies. Why do 
they not? Because they do not possess sufficient 
/orce of character. They have not sufficient resolu- 
tion and energy of purpose. Their virtue is not 
vigorous. Their moral wills are not resolute. 
Their influence is not armed with executive power. 
Their goodness is not felt as an earnest force of 
benevolent purpose. Their moral convictions are 
not regarded as solemn resolves to be true to God 



d\ 














86 



TO YOUNG WOMEN. 



ii^ 



and duty, come what may. This is the virtue of too 
many women. They would not have a drunkard for 
a husband, but they would drink a glass of wine 
with a fast young man. They would not use profane 
language, but they are not shocked by its incipient 
language, and love the society of men whom they 
know are as profane as Lucifer out of their presence. 
They would not be dishonest, but they will use a 
thousand deceitful words and ways, and countenance 
the society of men known as hawkers, sharpers and 
deceivers. They would not be irreligious, but they 
smile upon the most irreligious men, and even show 
that they love to be wooed by them. They would not 
be licentious, but they have no stunning rebuke for 
licentious men, and will even admit them on parol 
into their society. This is the virtue of too many 
women — a virtue scarcely worthy the name — really 
no virtue at all — a milk-and-water substitute — a 
hypocritical, hollow pretension to virtue as unwomanly 
as it is disgraceful. We believe that a young lady, 
by her constant, consistent Christian example, may 
exert an untold power. You do not know the respect 
and almost worship which young men, no matter how 
wicked they may be themselves, pay to a consistent 
Christian lady, be she young or old. If a young man 
sees that the religion which, in youth, he was taught 
to venerate, is lightly thought of, and perhaps sneered 
at, by the young ladies with whom he associates, we 
can hardly expect him to think that it is the thing for 
him. 



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TO YOUNG WOMEN. 



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Men love to trust their fortunes in their hands. The 
good love to gather around them for the blessing of 
their smiles ; they strew their pathway with moral 
light. They bless without effort ; they teach senti- 
ments of duty and honesty in every act of their lives. 

Such is the rectitude of character which every 
young woman should cultivate. Nothing will more 
surely secure confidence and esteem. There is 
especial need of such cultivation, for young women 
are doubted in many respects more generally than 
any other class of people. Most people seldom think 
of believing many things they hear from the lips of 
young women, so little is genuine integrity cultivated 
among them. We are sorry to make such a remark. 
We wish truth did not compel it. We would that 
young women would cultivate the strictest regard for 
truth in all things; in small as well as in important 
matters. Exaggeration or false coloring is as much 
a violation of integrity as a direct falsehood. Equiv- 
ocation is often falsehood. Deception in all forms is 
opposed to integrity. Mock manners, pretended 
emotions, affectation, policy plans to secure attention 
and respect are all sheer falsehoods, and in the end 
injure her who is guilty of them. Respect and affec- 
tion are the outgrowth of confidence. She who 
secures the firmest confidence will secure the most 
respect and love. Confidence can only be secured 
by integrity. The young woman with a high sense 
of duty will always secure confidence, and having 
this, she will secure respect, affection, and influence. 

You have crreat influence. You cannot live without 








r<p^',_.-^ 





having some sort of influence, any more then you can 
without breathing. One thing is just as unavoidable 
as the other. Beware, then, what kind of influence 
it is that you are constantly exerting. An invitation 
to take a glass of wine, or to play a game of cards, 
may kindle the fires of intemperance or gambling, 
which will burn forever. A jest given at the expense 
of religion, a light, trifling manner in the house of 
God, or any of the numerous ways in which you 
ma)/ show your disregard for the souls of others, may 
be the means of ruining many for time and eternity. 
We want the girls to rival the boys in all that is 
good, and refined, and ennobling. We want them 
to rival the boys, as they well can, in learning, in 
understanding, in virtues ; in all noble qualities of 
mind and heart, but not in any of those things that 
have caused them justly or unjustly, to be described 
as savages. We want the girls to be gentle — not 
weak, but gentle, and kind, and affectionate. We 
want, to be sure, that wherever a girl is, there should 
be a sweet, subduing and harmonizing influence of 
purity, and truth, and love, pervading and hallowing, 
from centre to circumference, the entire circle in which 
she moves. If the boys are savages, we want her to 
be their civilizer. We want her to tame .them, to 
subdue their ferocity, to soften their manners, and to 
teach them all needful lessons of order, and sobriety, 
and meekness, and patience, and goodness. The 
little world of self is not the limit that is to confine all 
her actions. HeR love was not destined to waste its 
fires in the narrow chamber of a single human heart; 



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no, a broader sphere of action is hers ---a more 
expansive benevolence. The light and heat of her 
love are to be seen and felt far and wide. Who would 
not rather thus live a true life, than sit shivering" over 
the smoldering embers of self-love ? Happy is that 

aiden who seeks to live this true life ! As time 
passes on, her own character will be elevated andf 4> 
purified. Gradually Avill she return toward that order 
of her being, which was lost in the declension of 
mankind from that original state of excellence in 
which they were created. She will become, more 
and more, a true woman ; will grow wiser, and better, 
and happier. Her path through the world will be as 
a shining light, and all who know her will call her 
blessed. 

A right view of life, then, which all should take at 
'"^the outset, is the one we have pres^ntedw Let eyery_ 
young lady seriously reflect upon this subject. Let '' 
her remember that she is not designed by her Creator 
to live for herself alone, but has a higher and nobler 
destiny — that of doing good to others — of making 
others happy. As the quiet streamlet which runs 
along the valley nourishes a luxuriant vegetation, 
causing flowers to bloom and birds to sing along its 
banks, so do a kind look and happy countenance 
spread peace and joy around. 

Kindness is the ornament of man — it Is the chief 
glory of woman — -it is, indeed, woman's true prerog- 
ative — her sceptre and her crown. It is the sword 
with which she conquers, and the charm with which 
she captivates. Young lady, would you be admired 





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90 



TO YOUNG WOMEN. 



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and beloved ? would you be an ornament to your sex, 
and a blessing* to your race ? Cultivate this heavenly 
virtue. Wealth may surround you with its blandish- 
ments, and beauty, learning-, or talents, may give you 
admirers, but love and kindness alone can captivate 
the heart. Whether you live in a cottage or a palace, 
these graces can surround you with perpetual sun- 
shine, making you, and all around you, happy. 

Seek ye, then, fair daughters, the possession of 
that inward grace, whose essence shall permeate and 
vitalize the affections, — adorn the countenance, — 
make mellifluous the voice, — and impart a hallowed 
beauty even to your motions ! Not merely that you 
may be loved, would we urge this, but that you may, 
in truth, be lovely, — that loveliness which fades not 
with time, nor is marred or aliented by disease, but 
which neither chance nor change can in any way 
despoil. We urge you, gentle maiden, to beware of 
the silken enticements of the stranger, until your love 
is confirmed by protracted acquaintance. Shun the 
idler, though his coffers overflow with pelf Avoid 
the irreverent, — the scoffer of hallowed things; and 
him *'who looks upon the wine while it is red;" — 
him, too, "who hath a high look and a proud heart," 
and who ''privily slandereth his neighbor." E>o not 
heed the specious prattle about ''first love/' and so 
place, irrevocably, the seal upon your future destiny, 
before you have sounded, in silence and secre.sy, the 
deep fountains of your own heart. Wait, rather, 
until your own character and that of him who would 
woo you, is more fully developed. Surely, if this 



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1^ 







DAUGHTER AND SISTER. 



9i 



''first love" cannot endure a short probation, fortified 
by ''the pleasures of hope," how can it be expected 
to survive years of intimacy, scenes of trial, distract- 
ing- cares, wasting sickness, and all the homely rou- 
tine of practical life. Yet it is these that constitute 
life, and the love that cannot abide them is false and 
must die. 



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There are few things of which men are more proud 
than of their daughters. The young father follows 
the sportive girl with his eye, as he cherishes an 
emotion of complacency, not so tender, but quite as 
active as the mother's. The aged father leans on his 
daughter as the crutch of his declining years. An 
old proverb says that the son is son till he is married, 
but the daughter is daughter forever. This is some- 
thing like the truth. Though the daughter leaves 
the parental roof, she is still followed by kindly re- 
gards. The gray-haired father drops in every day to 
greet the beloved face ; and when he pats the cheeks 
of the little grandchildren, it is chiefly because the 
bond which unites him to them passes through the 
heart of his darling Mary ; she is his daughter still. 
There are other ministries of love more conspicuous 
than hers, but none in which a gentler, lovelier spirit 
dwells, and none to which the heart's warm requitals 
F^^ore joyfully respond. There is no such thing as a 




,J 



DAUGHTER AND SISTER. 



comparative estimate of a parent's affection for one 
or another child. There is Httle which he needs to 
covet, to whom the treasure of a good child has been 
given. A good daughter is the steady light of her 
parent's house. His idea of her is indissolubly con- 
nected with that of his happy fireside. She is the 
morning sunlight, and his evening star. The grace, 
and vivacity, and tenderness of her sex, have their 
place in the mighty sway which she holds over his 
spirit. The lessons of recorded wisdom which he 
reads with her eyes come to his mind with a new 
charm, as they blend with the beloved melody of her 
voice. He scarcely knows weariness which her song 
does not make him forget, or gloom which is proof 
against the brightness of her young smile. She is the 
pride and ornament of his hospitality, and the gentle 
nurse of his sickness, and the constant agent in those 
nameless, numberless acts of kindness which one 
chiefly cares to have rendered because they are unpre- 
tending but all-expressive proofs of love. 

But now, turning to the daughters themselves, one 
of their first duties at home is to make their mother 
happy — to shun all that would pain or even perplex 
her. ''Always seeking the pleasure of others, always 
careless of her own," is one of the*finest encomiums 
ever pronounced upon a daugther. True : at that 
period of life when dreams are realities, and realities 
seem dreams, this may be forgotten. Mothers may 
find only labor and sorrow where they had a right 
to expect repose ; but the daughter who would make 
her home and her mother happy, should learn 





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m 





■^^ 



DAUGHTER AND SISTER. 



betimes that, next to duty to God our Savior, comes 
duty to her who is always the first to rejoice in our 
joy, and to weep when we weep. Of all the proofs 
of heartlessness which youth can give, the strongest 
is indifference to a mother's happiness or sorrow. 
f^^-^-^ ..How large and cherished a place does a good 
. •;^i$tei;:'s^love always hold in the grateful memory. ^^/ 
5;;pne who has been , blessed with the benefits of thS 
relation as he looks back to the home of his child- 
hood ! How many are there who, in the changes of 
maturer years, have found a sister's love, for them- 
selves, and others dearer than themselves, their ready 
and adequate resource. With what a sense of security 
is confidence reposed in a good sister, and with what 
assurance that it will be uprightly and considerately 
given, is her counsel sought ! How initmate is the 



_¥v)^^ friendship of such sisters, not widely separated in 
age from one another ! What a reliance for Avarning, 
excitement, and sympathy has each secured in each ! 
How many are the brothers to whom, when thrown 
into circumstances of temptation, the thought of a 
sister's love has been a constant, holy presence, 
rebuking every wayward thought ! 

The intercourse of brothers and sisters forms 
another important element in the happy influences of 
home. A boisterous or a selfish boy may try to 
domineer over the weaker or more dependent girl, 
but generally the latter exerts a softening, sweetening 
charm. The brother animates and heartens, the sis- 
ter mollifies, tames, refines. The vine and its sustain- 
ing elm are the emblems of such a relation — and by 



A\ 




i 




1 



7' 




a\ 



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9A 



DAUGHTER AND SISTER. 





such agencies our 



sons may become like plants 
^rown up in their youth, and our daughters like 
corner-stones polished after the similitude of a tem- 
ple." Among Lord Byron's early miseries, the terms 
on which he lived with his mother helped to sour the 
majestic moral ruin — he was chafed and distempered 
thereby. The outbreaks of her passion, and the 
unbridled impetuosity of his, made their companion- 
ship uncongenial, and at length drove them far apart. 
But Byron found a compensating power in the friend- 
ship of his sister, and to her he often turned amid 
his wanderings, or his misantrophy and guilt, as an 
exile turns to his home. '*A world to roam in and a 
home with thee," were words which embodied the 
feelings of his void and aching heart, when all else 
that is lovely appeared to have faded away. He had 
plunged into the pleasures of sin till he was sated, 
wretched, and self-consumed — the very Sardanapalus 
of vice. But ''his sister, his sweet sister," still shone 
like the morning star of memory upon his dark soul. 
Sisters scarcely know the influence they have over 
their brothers. A young man testifies that the great- 
est proof of the truth of the Christian religion was 
his sister's life. Often the simple request of a lady 
will keep a young man from doing wrong. We have 
known this to be the case very frequently; and 
young men have been kept from breaking the Sab- 
bath, from drinking, from chewing, just because a 
lady whom they respected, and for whom they had 
an affection, requested it. A tract given, an invitation 
to go to church, a request that your friend would 



DAUGHTER AND SISTER. 



95 



read the Bible daily, will often be regarded, when a 
more powerful appeal from other sources would fall 
unheeded upon the heart. Many of the gentlemen 
whom you meet in society are away from the influence 
of parents and sisters, and they will respond to any 
interest taken in their welfare. We all speak of a 
young man's danger from evil associates, and the 
very bad influence which his dissipated gentlemen 
associates have upon him. We believe it is all true 
that a gentleman's character is formed to a greater 
extent by the ladies that he associates with before he 
becomes a complete man of the world. We think, 
in other words, that a young man is pretty much 
what his sisters and young lady friends choose to 
make him. We knew a family where the sisters 
encouraged their young brothers to smoke, thinking 
it was manly, and to mingle with gay, dissipated fel- 
lows because they thought it "smart;" and they did 
mingle with them, body and soul, and abused the 
same sisters shamefully. The influence began further 
back than with their gentleman companions. It 
began with their sisters, and was carried on through 
the forming years of their character. On the other 
hand, if sisters are watchful and affectionate they may 
in various ways — by entering into any little plan with 
interest, by introducing their younger brothers into 
good ladies' society — lead them along till their char- 
acter is formed, and then a high respect for ladies, 
and a manly self-respect, will keep them from ming- 
ling in low society. 




Y 



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.:s;> 



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^.■^ 



f^ 



Thou art noble ; yet, 1 see, 
Thy honorable Metal may be wrought 
From that it is disposed. Therefore 'tis meet 
That noble Minds keep ever with their Likes : 
For who so firm, that cannot be seduced ? 

— Shakspeare. 

An author is known by his writings, a mother by 
her daughter, a fool by his words, and all men by 
their companions. 

Intercourse with persons of decided virtue and 
excellence is of great importance in the formation 
of a good character. The force of example is 
powerful; we are creatures of imitation, and, by a 
necessary influence, our tempers and habits are 
formed on the model of those with whom we 
familiarly associate. Better be alone than in bad 
company. Evil communications corrupt good man- 
ners. Ill qualities are catching as well as diseases ; 
and the mind is at least as much, if not a great deal 
more, liable to infection, than the body. Go with 
mean people, and you think life is mean. 

The human race requires to be educated, and it is 
doubtless true that the greater part of that education 
is obtained through example rather than precept. 
This is especially true respecting character and habits. 
How natural is it for a child to look up to those 
around him for an example of imitation, and how 
readily does he copy all that he sees done, good or 
bad. The Importance of a good example on which 





a::. 



M 



c 







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ASSC^CIATES. 




the young may exercise this powerful and active 
element of their nature, is a matter of the utmost 
moment. To the phrenologist every faculty assumes 
an importance almost infinite, and perhaps none more 
so than that of imitation. It is a trite, but true 







^-v^axim, that ''a man is known Dy the company he 
^ ;' dc@i6p%!V^e naturally assimilates, by the force of 
^^ ^ iittitatiorr,^ to thfehabits and manners of those by^n, 
whom he is surrounded. We know persons, who 
walk much with the lame, who have learned to walk 
with a hitch or limp like their lame friends. Vice 
stalks in the streets unabashed, and children copy 
it. Witness the urchin seven years old trying to 
ape his seniors in folly, by smoking the cigar- 
stumps which they have cast aside. In time, when 
his funds improve, he will wield the long nine, and 
^^=^^=^^ a full-fledged ''loafer." This facult}^v'is usually ?^ 
more active in the young than iij^^clult life,"aiia^V 
serves to lead them to imitate that which their seniors 
do, before their reasoning powers are sufficiently devel- 
oped and instructed to enable them to reason out a 
proper course of action. Thus by copying others, 
they do that which is appropriate, right or wrong, 
without knowing why, or the principles and conse- 
quences involved in their actions. 

The awfully sad consequences of evil associations 
is exhibited in the history of almost all criminals. 
The case of a man named Brown, recently executed 
in Toronto, Canada, is an example. He was born in 
Cambridgeshire, England, of parents who were mem- 
bers of the Church of England ; and in a sketch of 



Ifi 






■11.-.. 



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! :'l 






nil 



I '4^ 



98 




ASSOCIATES 



His life, written at his dictation, he attributes his down- 
fall to early disobedience and to bad companions, 
which led to dissipation and finally plunged him Into 
associations with the most dissolute and lawless char- 
acters. They led him on In transgression and sin, 
which ended in his being brought to the scaffold. 
On the gallows he made the following speech : ''This 
is a solemn day- for me, boys ! I hope this will be a 
warning to you against bad company — I hope It will 
be a lesson to all young people, and old as well as 
young, rich and poor. It was that that brought me 
here to-day to my last end, though I am innocent of 
the murder I am about to suffer for. Before my God 
I am Innocent of the murder ! I never committed this 
or any other murder. I know nothing of It. I am 
going to meet my Maker in a few minutes. May the 
Lord have mercy on my soul! Amen, amen." What 
a terrible warning his melancholy example affords to 
young men never to deviate from the straight line of 
duty. Live with the culpable and 3A0U will be very 
likely to die with the criminal. Bad company is like 
a nail driven Into a post, which after the first or sec- 
ond blow, may be drawn out with little dlf^culty ; but 
being once driven In up to the head, the pinchers 
cannot take hold to draw It out, which can only be 
done by the destruction of the wood. You may be ever 
so pure, you cannot associate with bad companions 
without falling Into bad odor. Evil company Is like 
tobacco smoke — you cannot be long in Its presence 
without carrying away taint of It. ''Let no man 
deceive himself," says Petrarch, ''by thinking that the 




I 




m3i 



^ 



contagions of the soul are less than those of the body. 
They are yet greater ; they sink deeper, and come on 
more unsuspectedly." From impure air, we take dis- 
eases; from bad company, vice and imperfection. 
Avoid, as much as you can, the company of all 
vicious persons whatever ; for no vice is alone, and all 
are infectious. 
y'-lVIen carry unconscious signs of their life about 




lY'^^:^} tSeniy those that come from the forge and those from 
i^i the lime and mortar, and those from dusty travel bear 

signs of being workmen and of their work. One 
needs not ask a merry face or a sad one whether it 
hath come from joy or from grief Tears and laugh- 
ter tell their own story. Should one come home with 
fruit, we say — "You have come from the orchard." 
If with hands full of wild flowers, *' You have come 
from the field." If one's garments smell of mingled 
odors, we say, ''You have walked in a garden." SS 
with associations — those that walk with the just, the 
upright, have the sweetest incense that has ever 
anointed man. Let no man deceive himself 

Do you love the society of the vulgar? Then you 
are already debased in your sentiments. Do you 
seek to be with the profane ? In your heart you are 
}ike them. Are jesters and buffoons your choice 
friends ? He who loves to laugh at folly is himself a 
fool. Do you love and seek the society of the wise 
and good ? Is this your habit ? Had you rather take 
the lowest seat among these than the highest seat 
among others ? Then you have already learned to 
be good. You may not make very much progress, 



H 








.■^^( 




but even a good beginning is not to be despised. 
Hold on your way, and seek to be the companion of 
those that fear God. So you shall be wise for your- 
self, and wise for eternity. 

No man of position can allow himself to associate, 
without prejudice, with the profane, the Sabbath- 
breakers, the drunken and the licentious, for he 
lowers himself, without elevating them. The sweep 
is not made the less black by rubbing against the 
well-dressed and the clean, while they are inevitably 
defiled. Nothing elevates us so much as the pres- 
ence of a spirit similar, yet superior, to our own. 
What is companionship, where nothing that improves 
the intellect is communicated, and where the larger 
heart contracts itself to the model and dimension of 
the smaller? 

Washington was wont to say, ''Be courteous to 
all, but intimate with few, and let those few be well 
tried before you give them your confidence." It 
should be the aim of young men to go into good 
society. We do not mean the rich, the proud and 
fashionable, but the society of the wise, the intelligent 
and good. Where you find men that know more 
than you do, and from whose conversation one can 
gain information, it is always safe to be found. It 
has broken dov/n many a man by associating with 
the low and vulgar, where the ribald song and the 
indecent story were introduced to excite laughter. 
If you wish to be respected — if you desire happiness 
and not misery, we advise you to associate with the 
intelligent and good. Strive for mental excellence 







»«..^=^ 









and strict Integrity, and you never will be found in 
the sinks of pollution, and on the benches of retailers 
and gamblers. Once habituate yourself to a virtuous 
course — once secure a love of good society, and no 
punishment would be greater than by accident to be 
^v-p^liged for half a day to associate with the low and 
X' U^gSit. '. Try to frequent the company of your bet. 
^-f ters". \-^n 4)0ipk'^m4~4ife it is the most wholesome 
society;* learn to admire rightly; that is the great 
pleasure of life. Note what the great men admire — 
they admire great things ; narrow spirits admire 
basely and worship meanly. Some persons choose 
their associates as they do other useful animals, pre- 
ferring those from whom they expect the most ser- 
vice. Procure no friends in haste, nor, if once secured, 
in haste abandon them. Be slow in choosing a 
Sssociate and slower to change-W^i ; ^Jlight no m^ 
for poverty, nor esteem any one 'for h!§* wea^lth. 
Good friends should not be easily forgotten, nor 
used as suits of apparel, which, when Ave have worn 
them threadbare, we cast off and call for new. When 
once you profess yourself a friend, endeavor to be 
always such. He can never have any true friends, 
that will be often changing them. Whoever moves 
you to part with a true and tried friend, has certainly 
a design to make way for a treacherous enemy. To 
part with a tried friend without very great provocation, 
is unreasonable levity. Nothing but plain malevo- 
lence can justify disunion. The loss of a friend is 
like that of a limb ; time may heal the anguish of the 
wound, but the loss cannot be repaired. 






-''-:>^,\ 





102 



ASSOCIATES. 



When you have once found your proper associate, 
then stick to him — make him your friend — a close 
friend ; do all you can to improve him and learn all you 
can of him ; let his good qualities become yours ; 
one is not bound to bear a part in the follies of a 
friend, but rather to dissuade him from them ; even 
though he cannot consent to tell him plainly, as 
Phocion did Antipater, who said to him, ''I cannot 
be both your friend and flatterer." It is a good rule 
always to back your friends and face your enemies. 
Whoever would reclaim his friend, and bring him to 
a true and perfect understanding of himself, may 
privately admonish, but never publicly reprehend 
him. An open admonition is an open disgrace. 

Have the courage to cut the most agreeable 
acquaintance you have, when you are convinced he 
lacks principle ; a friend should bear with a friend's 
infirmities, but not with his vices. He that does a 
base thing in zeal for his friend, burns the golden 
thread that ties their hearts together. 

If you have once chosen the proper person as an 
associate and a friend, then you have a friend for life- 
time, and you will always cherish and honor him ; 
but the neglected child, the reckless youth, the 
wrecked and wretched man will haunt you with 
memories of melancholy, with grief and despair. 
How we will curse those associates that dragged us 
down to ruin and destruction, and how love to repeat 
the names of old friends. 

''Old friends!" What a multitude of deep and 
varied emotions are called forth from the soul by the 



^1 



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-TT 



% L 



\;i 



(.K 





INFLUENCE. 



103 








utterance of these two words. What thronging 
memories of other days crowd the brain when they 
are spoken. Ah, there is a magic in the sound 
and the spell which it creates is both sad and pleasing. 
As v/e sit by our fireside, while the winds are making 
wild melody without the walls of our cottage, and 
review the scenes of by-gone years which flit before 
us in swift succession, dim and shadowy as the recollec- 
tions of a dream — how those "old familiar faces" 
will rise up and haunt our vision with their well 
remembered features. But ah, where are they? 
those friends of our youth — those kindred spirits who 
shared our joy and sorrows when first we started in 
the pilgrimage of life. Companions of our early 
days, they are endeared to us by many a tie, and we 
now look back through the vista of years upon the 
hours of our communion, as upon green oases in „aA|j 
^j^^sandy waste. Years have passed over us with the 
buds and flowers, their fruits and snows ; and where 
now are those *'old familiar faces?" They are 
scattered, and over many of their last narrow homes 
the thistle waves its lonely head; "after life's fitful 
fever they sleep well." Some are buffeting the billows 
of time's stormy sea in distant lands ; though they are 
absent our thoughts are often with them. 



ilr^ 





i^ 



■^4^ 



Away up among the Alleghanies there is a spring 
so small that a single ox on a summer's day could 




INFLUENCE. 






drain it dry. It steals its unobtrusive way among the 
hills, till it spreads out into the beautiful Ohio. 
Thence it stretches away a thousand miles, leaving 
on its banks more than a hundred villages and cities 
and many a cultivated farm ; then joining the Missis- 
sippi, it stretches away some twelve hundred miles 
more, till it falls into the emblem of eternity. It is 
one of the greatest tributaries to the ocean, which 
obedient only to God, shall roar till the angel with one 
foot on the sea and the other on the land, shall aver 
that time shall be no longer. So with moral influence. 
It is a rill — a rivulet — an ocean, and as boundless 
and fathomless as eternity. 

''The stone, flung from my careless hand into the 
lake, splashed down into the depths of the flowing 
water, and that was all. No, it was not all. Look at 
those concentric rings, rolling their tiny ripples among 
the sedgy reeds, dippling the overhanging boughs of 
yonder willow, and producing an influence, slight but 
conscious, to the very shores of the lake itself. That 
stray word, that word of pride or scorn, flung from 
my lips in casual company, produces a momentary 
depression, and that is all. No, it is not all. It 
deepened that man's disgust at godliness, and it sharp- 
ened the edge of that man's sarcasm, and it shamed 
that half-converted one out of his penitent misgivings, 
and it produced an influence, slight, but eternal, on 
the destiny of a human life. Oh, it is a terrible power 
that I have — this power of influence — and it clings 
to me. I cannot shake it off. It is born with me ; it 
has grown with my growth, and is strengthened with 



;i:^^6uuu.,J^..J^ 



O 






K.r^^^=^ 



HABIT 




my strength. It speaks, It walks, it moves ; it is 
powerful in every look of my eye, in every word of 
my lips, in every act of my life. I cannot live to 
myself. I must either be a light to illumine, Oi a 
tempest to destroy. I must either be an Abel, who, 
by his immortal righteousness, being dead yet speak- 
e^h, or a!n Achan, the sad continuance of whose other- 

^wise^^Qlfe^ name^is the proof that man perishes 
not akiii^ in his iniquity. Dear reader, this necessary 
element of power belongs to you. The sphere may 
be contracted, thine influence may be small, but a 
sphere and influence you surely have." 

Every human being is a centre of influence for good 
or for ill. No man can live unto himself. The 
meshes of a net are not more surely knit together 
than man to man. We may forget this secret, silent, 

Mofluence. But we are exerting-ft by o^r deeds, we 
are exerting it by our words, we are exertMg it by 
our very thoughts — and he is wise with a wisdom 
more than that of earth who seeks to put forth the 
highest power for good, be his home a hut or a hall, 
a cabin or a palace. 



'\ 



a 




Habit in a child is at first like a spider's web ; if 
neglected it becomes a thread of twine ; next, a cord 
of rope; finally, a cable — then who can break it.'^ 
There are habits contracted by bad example, or bad 




HABIT 



management, before we have judgment to discern 
their approaches, or because the eye of reason is laid 
asleep, or has not compass of view sufficient to look 
around on every quarter. 

Oh, the tyranny, the despotism of a bad habit ! 
Coleridge, one of the subtlest intellects and finest 
poets of his time, battled for twenty years before he 
could emancipate himself from his tyrant, opium. 
He went into voluntary imprisonment. He hired a 
man to watch him day and night, and keep him by 
force from tasting the pernicious drug. He formed 
resolution after resolution. Yet, during all the best 
years of his life, he wasted his substance and his 
health, neglected his family and lived degraded and 
accursed because he had not resolution to abstain. 
He would lay plans to cheat the very man whom he 
paid to keep the drug from him, and bribe the jailer 
to whom he had voluntarily surrendered himself. 

Terrible, terrible is the despotism of a bad habit. 
The case of Coleridge is an extreme one, of course. 
But there are many, whose eyes these lines will meet, 
who are as truly the slaves of a perverted appetite as 
he. Their despot may be opium, tobacco, drink, or 
worse ; but they are so completely under the dommion 
of their master, that nothing short of a moral war of 
independence, which should task all their own strength, 
and all they could borrow from others, would suffice 
to deliver them. 

John B. Gough uses the following as a powerful 

illustration : I remember once riding from Buffalo to 

I said to a gentleman, ''What river 





.^' I. 



fl 










"That." he said, "is Niag-ara river." 

"Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I; "bri^rht 
and fair and glassy. How far off are the rapids T' 

"Only a mile or two," was the reply. 

"Is it possible that only a mile from us we shall 
find the water in the turbulence which it must show 
near to the falls?" 
^J\''NoM will find it so, sir." And so I found it; and 
me first sight of Niagara I shall never forget. Now, 
launch your bark on that Niagara river; it is bright, 
smooth, beautiful and glassy. There is a ripple at 
the bow ; the silver wave you leave behind adds to 
the enjoyment. Down the stream you glide, oars, 
sails and helm in proper trim, and you set out on your 
pleasure excursion. Suddenly some one cries out 
from the bank, "Young men, ahoy!" 

"What is it?" M 

"The rapids are below you !" 

'Ha! ha ! we have heard of the rapids, but we are 
not such fools as to get there. If we go too fast, then 
we shall up with the helm, and steer to the shore ; we 
will set the mast in the socket, hoist the sail, and speed 
to the land. Then on, boys; don't be alarmed — 
there is no danger." 

"Young men, ahoy there!" 

"What is it?" 

"The rapids are below you !" 

"Ha! ha! we will laugh and quaff, all things de- 
light us. What care we for the future ! No man 
ever saw it. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof, 
enjoy life while we may ; will catch pleasure 




2^1 





■^■^:>i^: 





108 



HABIT. 



as it flies. This is enjoyment; time enough to steei' 
out of danger when we are saiHng swiftly with the 
current." 

"Young men, ahoy !" 

"What is it?" 

" Beware ! Beware ! The rapids are below you !" 

Now you see the water foaming all around. See 
how fast you pass that point ! Up with the helm ! 
Now turn ! Pull hard ! quick ! quick ! quick ! pull for 
your lives ! pull till the blood starts from the nostrils, 
and the veins stand like whip-cords upon the brow ! 
Set the mast in the socket! hoist the sail! — ah! ah! 
it is too late ! Shrieking, cursing, howling, blasphem- 
ing, over they go. 

Thousands go over the rapids every year, through 
the power of habit, crying all the while, "When 
I find out that it is injuring me I will give it up !" 

Few people form habits of wrong-doing delib- 
erately or willfully ; they glide into them by degrees 
and almost unconsciously, and before they are aware 
of danger, the habits are confirmed and require reso- 
lute and persistent effort to effect a change. "Resist 
beginning," was the maxim of the ancients, and 
should be preserved as a landmark in our day. Those 
who are prodigal or passionate, or indolent, or vision- 
ary, soon make shipwreck of themselves, and drift 
about the sea of life, the prey of every wind and 
current, vainly shrieking for help, till at last th 
drift away into darkness and death. 

Take care that you are not drifting. See th 
have fast hold of the helm. The breakers 










forever roar under the lee, and adverse gales contin- 
ually blow on the shore. Are you watching how she 
heads? Do you keep a firm grip of the wheel? If 
you give way but for one moment you may drift 
hopelessly into the boiling vortex. Young men, take 
/-v^-C??^! It rests with yourselves alone under God, 
<^> ' -^A^fe^^ reach port triumphantly or drift to ruin: 

".!*,' Be not slow irf^tbe breaking^ of a sinful custom; :^ 
^ " quick, courageous resolution is better than a gradual 
deliberation ; in such a combat, he is the bravest sol- 
dier who lays about him without fear or wit. Wit 
pleads, fear disheartens ; he that would kill hydra, had 
better strike off one neck than five heads ; fell the 
tree, and the branches are soon cut off 

Whatever be the cause, says Lord Kames, it is an 
established fact, that we are much influenced by cus- 
t6m ; it hath an effect upon our pleasures, upon our 
actions, and even upon our thoughfe>arid sentiments. 
Habit makes no figure during the vivacity of youth ; 
in middle age it gains ground ; and in old age, governs 
without control. In that period of life, generally 
speaking, we eat at a certain hour, take exercise at a 
certain hour, go to rest at a certain hour, all by the 
direction of habit; nay, a particular seat, table, bed, 
comes to be essential ; and a habit In any of these 
cannot be contradicted without uneasiness. 

Man, it has been said, is a bundle of habits ; and 
habit is second nature. Metastasio entertained so 
strong an opinion as to the power of repetition in act 
md thought, that he said, ''All is habit in mankind, 
even virtue itself." 



f'ri 




&v>^ 





^' 



\\i. 




110 



HABIT. 



Evil habits must be conquered, or they will conquer 
us and destroy our peace and happiness. 

Vicious habits are so great a stain upon human 
nature, said Cicero, and so odious in themselves, 
that every person actuated by right reason would 
avoid them, though he was sure they would always 
be concealed both from God and man, and had no 
future punishment entailed upon them. 

Vicious habits, when opposed, offer the most vigor- 
ous resistance on the first attack. At each successive 
encounter this resistance grows fainter and fainter, 
until finally it ceases altogether and the victory is 
achieved. 

Habit is man's best friend or worst enemy; it can 
exalt him to the highest pinnacle of virtue, honor 
and happiness, or sink him to the lowest depths of 
vice, shame and misery. 

We may form habits of honesty, or knavery; 
truth, or falsehood ; of industry, or idleness ; fru- 
gality, or extravagance ; of patience, or impatience ; 
self-denial, or self-indulgence ; of kindness, cruelty, 
politeness, rudeness, prudence, perseverance, circum- 
spection. In short, there is not a virtue, nor a vice, 
not an act of body, nor of mind, to which we may 
not be chained down by this despotic power. 

It is a great point for young men to begin well ; 
for it is in the beginning of life that that system of 
conduct is adopted which soon assumes the force of 
habit. Begin well, and the habit of doing well will 
become quite as easy as the habit of doing badly. 
Pitch upon that course of life which is the most 









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excelleni, and habit will render it the most delightful 
Well begun is half ended, says the proverb ; and a 
good beginning is half the battle. Many promising 
young men have irretrievably injured themselves by 
a first false step at the commencement of life ; while 
others, of much less promising talents, have succeed- 
ed simply by beginning well, and going onward= 
The good practical beginning is, to a certain extent, 
a pledge, a promise, and an assurance, of the ultimate 
prosperous issue. There is many a poor creature, 
now crawling through life, miserable himself and the 
cause of sorrow to others, who might have lifted up 
his head and prospered, if, instead of merely satisfy- 
ing himself with resolutions of well-doing, he had 
actually gone to work and made a good practical 
beginning. 




Congenial passions souls together bind, 
And every calling mingles with its kind; 
Soldier unites with soldier, swain v/ith swain, 
The mariner with him that roves the main. 

•F. Lewis. 

That we may be known by the company we fre- 
quent, has become proverbial. For, when unre- 
strained, we are prone to choose and associate with 
those whose manners and dispositions are agreeable 
and congenial to ours. Hence, when we find persons 
frequenting any company whatsoever, we are disposed 








::3 




COMPANY. 

to believe that such company is congenial with their 
feelings, not only in regard to their intellectual capa-> 
cities and accomplishments, but also their moral dispo- 
sition and their particular manner in life. 

Good company not only improves our manners, 
but also our minds ; for intelligent associates will 
become a source of enjoym.ent, as well as of edifica- 
tion. If they be pious they will improve our morals ; 
if they be polite they will tend to improve our 
manners ; if they be learned they will add to our 
knowledge and correct our errors. On the other hand, 
if they be immoral, ignorant, vulgar, their impress 
will most surely be left upon us. It therefore becomes 
a matter of no trivial concern to select and associate 
with proper company, while avoiding that which is 
certainly prejudicial. 

We should always seek the company of those who 
are known to possess superior merit and natural 
endowments ; for then, by being assimilated in man- 
ners and disposition, we rise. Whereas, by asso- 
ciating with those who are our inferiors in every 
respect, we become assimilated with them, and by 
that assimilation become degraded. Upon the whole 
much care and judgment are necessary in selecting 
properly that company which will be profitable. Yet 
this is not a point of so great interest among women 
as men ; because they are not necessarily thrown into 
associations of such diversity of character as the lat- 
ter. Nevertheless, the greater care and prudence 
are requisite to women, should they happen in such 
circles, to avoid the pernicious influence of such asso- 
ciations, to which many are too prone to yield. 













COMPANY. 



v;^u *" 



(V 



(xood company Is that which is composed of intelii- 
gent and well-bred persons ; whose lang'uag'e is chaste 
and good ; whose sentiments are pure and edifying- ; 
whose deportment is such as pure and well-regulated 
education and correct morals dictate ; and whose con- 
'iduct is directed and restrained by the pure precepts 
'of religion. 

When we have the advantage of such company, it 
should be the object of our zeal *'to imitate their real 
perfections ; copy their politeness, their carriage, their 
address, an-d the easy well-bred turn of their conver- 
sation ; but we should remember that, let them shine 
ever so bright, their vices (if they have any) are so 
many blemishes, which we should no more endeavor 
to imitate than we should make artificial warts on our 
faces because some very handsome lady happened to 
•,^^' Jiave one by nature. We should, on the contrary, 
I think how much handsomer she would have been 
^ f , without it." 

' ' What can be more pleasing and more angelic than 

a young lady, virtuous and adorned with the graces 
and elegances of finished politeness based upon a 
'If \ sound intellect, and well improved mind ! 



^m:s 








**For her inconstant man might cease to range, 
And gratitude forbid desire to change." 



The reflection rj pleasing, that it is in the power of 
all to acquire an elegance of manner, although they 
may be deprived of the advantages to be derived 
from a liberal education. At least they may attain 
to that degree of elegance and manners, by judicious 





\^/^ FORCE OF CHARACTER. 

selection of company, that will render them pleasing 
in any social circle, whether at home or abroad. This 
will excite interest, which will grow into respect ; from 
which always springs that pure, ardent, and affection- 
ate attachment which alone forms the only generous 
and indissoluble connection between the sexes ; that 
which the lapse of time serves only to confirm, and 
nought but death can destroy. 

If so much importance be attached to the prudent 
selection of company and associates, and if this be of 
such vital interest to every young female, how careful 
should she be not to take to her bosom for life a com- 
panion of dissolute habits and morals. Such an act 
might destroy all the domestic felicity she might have 
hoped to enjoy, and be a source of constant sorrow 
to her through life. 

"Oh shun, my friend, Siw^id that dangerous coast 
Where peace expires, and fair affection's lost." 

For no connection or friendship can be fond and last- 
ing, where a conformity of inclination and disposition 
does not exist ; but where this exists, all passions and 
finer feelings of the soul gently harmonize, and form 
one common and lasting interest. 



/.-T-^ir^ 



']0rc^ 0|[ rfiI|Hraelei[. 




What you can effect depends on what you are. 
You put your whole self into all that you do. If that 
self be small, and lean, and mean, your entire life 



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I'CRCE OF CHARACTER. 



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work is paltry, your words have no force, your influ- 
ence has no weight. If that self be true and high, pure 
and kind, vigorous and forceful, your strokes are blows, 
your notes staccatos, your work massive, your influ- 
ence cogent — you can do what you will. Whatever 
your position, you are a power, you are felt as a 
kingly spirit, you are as one having authority. Too 
many think of character chiefly in its relation to the 
life beyond the grave. We certainly would not have 
less thought of it with reference to that unknown fu- 
ture, on the margin of which some of us undoubtedly 
are at this moment standing ; but we do wish that 
more consideration were bestowed upon its earthly 
uses. We would have young men, as they start in 
life, regard character as a capital, much surer to yield 
full returns than any other capital, unaffected by 
panics and failures, fruitful when all other investments 
lie dormant, having as certain promise in the presen%-^ 
life as in that which is to come. 

Franklin, also, attributed his success as a public 
man, not to his talents or his powers of speaking — 
for these were but moderate — but to his known 
integrity of character. "Hence, it was," he says, 
''that I had so much weight with my fellow-citizens. 
I was but a bad speaker, never eloquent, subject to 
much hesitation in my choice of words, hardly correct 
in language, and yet I generally carried my point." 
Character creates confidence in men in every station 
of life. It was said of the first Emperor Alexander of 
Russia that his personal character was equivalent to 

constitution. During the wars of the Fronde, 



iii: 





'^^^ 







Montaigne was the only man among the French 
gentry who kept his castle gates unbarred; and it 
was said of him, that his personal character was worth 
more to him than a regiment of horse. 

There are trying and perilous circumstances in life, 
which show how valuable and important a good char- 
acter is. It is a sure and strong staff of support, 
when everything else fails. It is the AcropoHs which 
remains impregnable, imparting security and peace 
when all the other defenses have been surrendered to 
the enemy. The higher walks of life are treacherous 
and dangerous ; the lower full of obstacles and impedi- 
ments. We can only be secure in either, by maintain- 
ing those principles which are just, praiseworthy, and 
pure, and which inspire bravery in ourselves and 
confidence in others. 

Truthfulness, integrity and goodness — qualities 
that hang not on any man's breath — from the essence 
of manly character, or, as one of our old writers has 
it, ''that inbred loyalty unto virtue which can serve 
her without a livery." He who possesses these 
qualities, united with strength of purpose, carries 
with him a power which is irresistible. He is strong 
to do good, he is strong to resist evil, and strong to 
bear up under difficulty and misfortune. When Ste- 
phen of Coloma fell into the hands of his base assail- 
ants, and they asked him, in derision, ''Where is now 
your fortress?" "Here," was his bold reply, placing 
his hand upon his heart. It is in misfortune that the 
character of the upright man shines forth with the 
greatest lustre ; and, when all else fails, he takes 



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FORCE OF CHARACTER. 



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stand upon his integrity and his courag-e. In the 
famous pass of Thermopylae, the three hundred 
Spartans withstood the enemy with such vigor 
that they were obHged to retire wearied and con- 
quered during three successive days, till, suddenly 
/falling upon their rear, they crushed the brave defend- 
ers to pieces. ^-.^ . A/v:' 

StrengtiPi^r cnaracter consists of two things — 
power of will and power of self-restraint. It requires 
two things, therefore, for its existence — strong feel- 
ings and strong command over them. Now, it is 
here we make a great mistake ; we mistake strong 
feelings for strong character. A man who bears all 
before him, before whose frown domestics tremble, 
and whose bursts of fury make the children of the 
household quake — because he has his will obeyed, 
and his own way in all things, we call him a , strong , 
man. The truth is, that is the weak man ; ii: is his 
passions that are strong-; he, mastered by them, is 
weak. You must measure the strength of a man 
by the power of the feelings he subdues, not by the 
power of those which subdue him. And hence com- 
posure is very often the highest result of strength. 

Did we never see a man receive a flagrant insult 
and only grow a little pale, and then reply quietly? 
This is a man spiritually strong. Or did we never see 
a man in anguish, stand, as if carved out of solid 
rock, mastering himself? Or one bearing a hopeless 
daily trial remain silent and never tell the world what 
cankered his home peace? That is strength. He 
who, with strong passions, remains chaste ; he who, 






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FORCE OF CHARACTER. 



keenly sensitive, with manly powers of indignation 
in him, can be provoked, and yet restrain himself 
and forgive — these are the strong men, the spiritual 
heroes. 

The truest criterion of a man's character and con- 
duct, is, invariably, to be found in the opinion of his 
nearest relations, who having daily and hourly oppor- 
tunities of forming a judgment of him, will not fail in 
doing so. It is a far higher testimony in his favor, 
for him to secure the esteem and love of a few indi- 
viduals within the privacy of his own home, than the 
good opinion of hundreds in his immediate neighbor- 
hood, or that of ten times the number residing at a 
distance. The most trifling actions that affect a man's 
credit are to be regarded. The sound of your ham- 
mer at five in the morning, or nine at night, heard 
by a creditor, makes him easy six months longer ; but 
if he sees you at a billiard table, or hears your voice 
at a tavern, when you should be at work, he sends 
for his money the next day. 

Deportment, honesty, caution, and a desire to do 
right carried out in practice, are to human character 
what truth, reverence, and love are to religion. They 
are the unvaried elements of a good reputation. Such 
virtues can never be reproached, although the vulgar 
and despicable may scoff at them ; but it is not so 
much in their affected revulsion at them, as it is in the 
wish to reduce them to the standard of their own de- 
graded natures, and vitiated passions. Let such 
scoff and sneer — let them laugh and ridicule as much 
as they may — a strict, upright, onward course will 









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INTK(;Rri'Y. 



119 



('^tr?K 



evince to the world and to them, that there is more 
manly independence in one forgiving smile, than in 
all the pretended exceptions to worthiness in the so- 
ciety of the mean and vulgar. Virtue must have its 
admirers, and firmness of principle, both moral and 
religious, will ever command the proudest encomium 
of the intelligent world, to the exclusion of every other 
thing connected with human existence. 

That character is power is true in a much higher 
sense than that knowledge is power. Mind without 
heart, intelligence without conduct, cleverness v/ith- 
out goodness, are powers in their way, but they may 
be powers only for mischief. We may be instructed 
or amused by them, but it is sometimes as difficult to 
admire them as it would be to admire the dexterity of 
a pickpocket or the horsemanship of a highwayman„ 



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Young men look about them and see a great meas- 
ure of worldly success awarded to men without princi- 
ple. They see the trickster crowned with public 
honors, they see the swindler rolling in wealth, they 
see the sharp man, the over-reaching man, the un- 
principled man, the liar, the demagogue, the time- 
server, the trimmer, the scoundrel who cunningly 
manages, though constantly disobeying moral lav/ 
and trampling upon social courtesy, to keep himself 
out of the clutches of the legal police, carrying off 



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the prizes of wealth and place. All this is a demoraL 
izing puzzle and a fearful temptation ; and multitudes 
of young men are not strong enough to stand before 
it. They ought to understand that in this wicked 
world there is a great deal of room where there is 
integrity. Great trusts may be sought by scoundrels, 
but great trusts never seek them ; and perfect integrity 
is at a premium even among scoundrels. There are 
some trusts that they will never confer on each other. 
There are occasions where they need the services of 
true men, and they do not find them in shoals and in 
the mud, but alone and in pure water. 

Integrity is the foundation of all that is high in 
character among mankind ; other qualities may add to 
its splendor, but if this essential requisite be wanting 
all their lustre fades. Our integrity is never worth 
so much to us as when we have lost everything to 
keep it. Integrity without knowledge is weak; 
knowledge without integrity is dangerous and dread- 
ful. Integrity, however rough, is better than smooth 
dissimulation. Let a man have the reputation of 
being fair and upright in his dealings, and he will 
possess the confidence of all who know him. Without 
these qualities every other merit will prove unavail- 
ing. Ask concerning a man, "Is he active and 
capable ?" Yes. '' Industrious, temperate, and regular 
in his habits?" O, yes, ''Is he honest? is he 
trustworthy ?" Why, as to that, I am sorry to say that 
he is not to be trusted ; he wants watching ; he is a 
little tricky, and will take an undue advantage, if he 
can. ''Then I will have nothing to do with him/* 







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INTEGRITY. 



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will be the invariable reply. Why, then, is honesty 
the best policy ? Because, without it you will get a 
bad name, and everybody will shun you. 

The world is always asking for men who are not for 
sale ; men who are honest, sound from centre to circum- 
){^ference, true to the heart's core ; men who will condemn 
wrong in friend or foe, in themselves as well as others ; 
#^^&merr whose consciences are as steady as the needle to 
the pole; men who will stand for the right if the 
heavens totter and the earth reels ; men who can tell 
the truth, and look the world and the devil right in 
the eye; men who neither brag nor run; men who 
neither flag nor flinch; men who can have courage 
without shouting to it ; men in whom the courage of 
everlasting life runs stifl, deep, and strong ; men who 
do not cry, nor cause their voices to be heard on the 



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)^^^treets, who will not fail nor be- discouraged till judg- 
ment be set in the earth ; men who know their message 
and tell it ; men who know their places and fill them ; 
men who know their own business ; men who will not 
lie ; men who are not too lazy to work, not too proud 
to be poor ; men who are willing to eat what they 
have earned, and wear what they have paid for. It is 
always safe to trust those who can trust themselves, 
but when a man suspects his own integrity, it is time 
he was suspected by others. Moral degradation always 
begins at home. Honesty is never gained or lost 
suddenly, or by accident. Moral strength or mora) 
weakness takes possession of us by slow and imper 
ceptible degrees. 

Avoid — and young men especiallv — avoid all base. 




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122 INTEGRITY. 

servile, underhand, sneaking ways. Part with any- 
thing rather than your integrity and conscious recti- 
tude ; flee from injustice as you would from a viper's 
fangs ; avoid a lie as you v/ould the gates of hell. 
Some there are who are callous as to this. Some 
there are who, in stooping to mercantile dishonor and 
business — in driving the immoral bargain — think 
they have done a clever action. Things are often 
called by their wrong names ; duplicity is called 
shrewdness, and wrong-heartedness is called long- 
headedness ; evil is called good, and good evil, and 
darkness is put for light, and light for darkness. 
Well ! be it so. You may be prosperous in your own 
eyes ; you may have realized an envied fortune ; you 
may have your carriage, and plate, and servants, and 
pageantry ; but rather the shielding and the crust of 
bread with a good conscience, than the stately dwell- 
ing or palace without It. Rather than the marble 
mausoleum, which gilds and smothers tales of heart- 
less villainy and fraud — rather, far rather, that lowly 
heap of grass we were wont often to gaze upon in an 
old village churchyard, with the simple record of a 
cotter's virtues: ''Here lies an honest inajif' There 
is nothing more sad than to be carried like a vessel 
away from the straight course of principle ; to be left 
a stranded outcast thing on the sands of dishonor : 
a man bolstering himself up in a position he is not 
entitled to. ''That is a man of capital,^' says the 
world, pointing to an unscrupulous and successful 
-swindler. Capital! What is capital? Is it what a 
i,\\ man hasf Is it counted by pounds and pence, stocks 



POOR BOYS. 



123 






l\-« 



and shares, by houses and lands? No> ^jctpical is not 
ivhat a man has, but what a man is. Character is 
capital ; honor is capital. That is the most fearful of 
ruin when character is gone, when integrity is sold, 
when honor is bartered for a miserable mess of earthly 
pottage. God save us from ruin like this ! Perish 
what may ; perish gold, silver, houses, lands ; let the 
winds of misfortune dash our vessel on the sunken 
rock, but let integrity be like the valued keepsake 
which the sailor boy lashed with the rope round his 
body, the only thing we care to save. Let one die ; 
but let angels read, if friends cannot afford to erect 
the grave stone: ''Here lies an honest many 




'mmtntt^ 



Many men have been obscure in their origin and 
birth, but great and glorious in life and death. They 
have been born and nurtured in villages, but have 
reigned and triumphed in cities. They were first laid 
in the mangers of poverty and obscurity, but have 
afterwards become possessors of thrones and palaces. 
Their fame is like the pinnacle which ascends higher 
and higher, until at last it becomes a most conspicu- 
ous and towering object of attraction. 

Columbus was the son of a weaver, and a weaver 
himself. Cervantes wa^^ a common soldier. Homer 
was the son of a small farmer. Moliere was the son 
of a tapestry maken Den^.osthenes was the son of 






-^ 









a cutlen Terrence was a slave. Oliver Cromwell 
was the son of a London brewer. Howard was an 
apprentice to a grocer. Franklin was the son of a 
tallow-chandler and soap boiler. Dr. Thomas, Bishop 
of Worcester, was the son of a linen-draper. Daniel 
Defoe, was a hostler and son of a butcher. Whit- 
field was the son of an inn-keepen Virgil was the 
son of a porter. Horace was the son of a shop 
keeper. Shakspeare was the son of a wood stapler. 
Milton was the son of a money scrivener. Robert 
Burns was a plowman in Ayrshire. Mohammed, 
called the prophet, was a driver of asses. Madame 
Bernadotte was a washerwoman of Paris. Napoleon 
was of an obscure family of Corsica. John Jacob 
Astor once sold apples on the streets of New York. 
Catherine, Empress of Russia, was a camp-follower. 
Cincinnatus was plowing in his vineyard when the 
dictatorship of Rome was offered him. Elihu Burritt 
was a blacksmith. Daniel Webster, while young, 
worked on a farm. Henry Clay was ''the mill-boy of 
the slashes." 

The young man who thinks of taking a short cut 
to fortune, should deliberately write down the names 
of a dozen of our richest men, and he will find that 
the largest part of the wealth of the Astors and 
Browns and Stevi^arts and Vanderbilts was accumu- 
lated after they had passed their fiftieth year. 

''Without fame or fortune at forty, without fame or 
fortune always" is the sentiment of many, oftener 
expressed by the saying, that if a man is not rich at 
forty, he never will be. It was after forty that Sir 






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POOR ]U)\'S. 




125 



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Walter Scott became the great unknown ; it was after 
forty that Palmerston was found to be England's 
greatest prime minister of the century. At that age, 
many who now appear prominently in our political 
history were obscure citizens. Howe, of the sewing- 
machine, was utterly destitute at thirty-five, a million- 
aire six years later. 

A long time ago, a little boy, twelve years old, on 
his road to Vermont, stopped at a country tavern, and 
paid for his lodging and breakfast by sawing wood, 
instead of asking for food as a gift. Fifty years later, 
the same boy passed that same little inn as George 
Peabody, the banker, whose name is the synonym of 
magnificent charities — the honored of two hemis- 
pheres. He was born poor in Danvers, Mass., and 
by beginning right and pursuing a course of strict 
honesty, integrity, industry, activity and Christian 
benevolence, he has been able to amass greai wealth. 
Some years since he made a generous gift to his 
native town ; and also remembered the city of Balti- 
more, Maryland, where he long resided, by a liberal 
donation. For nearly twenty-five years, having done 
business in London, and being past sixty years old, he 
had given ^150,000 — nearly $750,000 — to be devo- 
ted to the benefit of the poor of that city. 

When Cornelius Vanderbilt was a young man, his 
mother gave him fifty dollars of her savings to buy a 
small sail-boat, and he engaged in the business of 
transporting market-gardening from Staten Island to 
New York city. When the wind was not favorable 
he would work his way over the shoals by pushing 






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126 




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the boat alon^^ by poles, putting- his own shoulder to 
the pole, and was very sure to get his freight to 
market in season. This energy gave him always a 
command of full freights, and he accumulated money. 
After awhile he began to build and run steamboats, 
and he died worth more than eighty-five millions of 
dollars. 

Mr. Tobin, formerly President of the Hudson River 
Railroad Company, is a millionaire. He is not yet 
forty years of age. He began life as a steamboat 
clerk with Commodore Vanderbilt. When he took 
his position the Commodore gave him two orders: 
first, to collect fare of everybody and have no dead- 
heads on the boat ; second, to start the boat on time, 
and wait for nobody. The Commodore then lived at 
Staten Island. Tobin obeyed his orders so literally 
that he collected fare of the Commodore the first 
evening, and left him on the wharf the next morning, 
as the boat could not wait. The Commodore was 
coming down the wharf leisurely, and supposed, of 
course, the boat would wait for him. He proved a 
man after Vanderbilt's own heart. He became his 
confidential clerk and broker, bought and sold Harlem 
and made for himself a fortune. 

Stephen Girard left his native country at the age 
of ten or twelve years, as a cabin boy on a vessel. 
He came to New York in that capacity. His deport- 
ment was distinguished by such fidelity, industry and 
temperance, that he won the attachment and confi- 
dence of his master, who generally bestowed upon 
him the appellation of *'my Stephen." When his 



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POOR IJOVS. 



127 



^l 



master g-ave up business he promoted Girarcl to the 
command of a small vessel. Girard was a self-taught 
man, and the world was his school. It was a favorite 
theme with him, when he afterwards grew rich, to 
relate that he commenced life with a sixpence, and to 
insist that a man's best capital was his industry. All 
professions and all occupations, which afforded a just 
reward for labor, were alike honorable in his estima- 
tion. He was never too proud to work. 

In the time of the* yellow fever, in 1793, when con- 
sternation had seized the whole population of the city 
of Philadelphia, Stephen Girard, than a rich merchant, 
offered his services as a nurse in the hospital. His 
offers were accepted, and in the performance of the 
most loathsome duties, he walked unharmed in the 
miidst of the pestilence. He used to say to his friends, 
'/When you are sick, if anything ails you, do not g 
to a doctor, but come to me, I will cure you." 

Far back in the teens of the present century, a 
young man asked for employment in the Springfield 
armory ; but he was poor and modest, and had no 
friends, so he went away without it ; but, feeling the 
man within him, he sought work until he found it. 
An age later, he visited that armory a second time, 
not as a common day-laborer, but as the ablest 
speaker of the House of Representatives, and for 
many years Governor of Massachusetts. 

Of P. R. Spencer, the author of the Spencerian 
system of penmanship, it is said that, ''the smooth 
sand beach of Lake Erie constituted the foolscap in 
and on which, for want of other material, he perfected 



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essentially the system which meets such general favor 
in our common and commercial schools, and in our 
business and literary circles." When we reflect upon 
the immense popularity of his system, which, passing 
beyond the limits of our own country, has been 
re-engraved in England, is used in the model count- 
ing rooms of London, Liverpool and Manchester, 
and is also the adopted system of the English Depart- 
ment of the University of Zurich, in Switzerland, we 
must accord to its honored author chaste and elevated 
powers of conception, with bold and tireless grasp, 
of just apprehension, and agree that the barefooted 
boy of fifty years ago m2is^ have been tkhikzjtg, 
and thinking aright, and thinking with 7io ordinary 
mind, when he gave to his coinings in the sands such 
vitality of science that the world has adopted and 
embalmed them as the most beautiful imagery of ''the 
art." 

Masons and bricklayers can boast of Ben Jonson, 
who worked at the building of Lincoln's Inn with a 
trowel in his hand and a book in his pocket ; Edwards 
and Telford, the engineers ; Hugh Miller, the geolo- 
gist, and Allen Cunningham, the writer and sculptor. 
John Hunter, the physiologist, Ronevey and Opie, the 
painters, Professor Lee, the orientalist, and John 
Gibbons, the sculptor, were carpenters. Wilson, the 
ornithologist, Dr. Livingstone, the missonary trav- 
eler, and Tannahill, the poet, were weavers. Samuel 
Drew, the essayist, and Gifford, the editor of the 
"Quarterly Review," were shoemakers. Admiral 
Hobson, one of the gallantest of British seaman, was 
orieinallv a tailor. 



"Ti 



..*• 



^-^ 



r' 



^^i 





POOR BOYS. 



It is not g-ood for human nature to have the road of 
Hfe made too easy. Better to be under the necessity 
of working hard and faring meanly, than to have 
everything done ready to our hand, and a pillow of 
down to repose upon. Indeed, to start in life with 
comparatively small means seems so necessary as a 
Wimulus to worl^„that it may almost be set doMn3.va| 
one of thev^§Mmral conditions to success in life. 



i 




Hence; an eminent judge, when asked what contri- 
buted most to success at the bar, replied, ''Some 
succeed by great talent, some by high connections, 
some by miracle, but the majority by commencing 
without a shilling." So it is a common saying that 
the men who are most successful in business are 
those who begin the world in their shirt sleeves; 
whereas, those who begin with fortunes generally 
lose them. Necessity is always the jitst stimulys, 
to industry, and those who conduct it 'with pru- 
dence, perseverence and energy will rarely fail. 
Viewed in this light, the necessity of labor is not a 
chastisement, but a blessing — the very root and 
spring of all that we call progress in individuals, and 
civilization in nations. It may, indeed, be questioned 
whether a heavier curse could be imposed on man 
than the complete gratification of all his wishes with- 
out effort on his part, leaving nothing for his hopes, 
desires or struggles. The feeling that life is destitute 
of any motive or necessity for action, must be, of all 
others, the most distressing and the most insupport- 
able to a rational being. 






130 



.,^#-5k^...^_^ 




OCCUPATION. 









I '^^ 



l|CCIt^W»tl. 



The man who has no occupation is in a bad pHght. 
f he is poor, want is ever and anon pinching him , 
if he is rich, enui is a more relentless tormentor than 
want. An unoccupied man cannot be happy — nor 
can one who is improperly occupied. We have 
swarms of idlers among us, the worst of whom are 
gentlemen idlers ; that is, men who pursue no useful 
occupation, and sponge their way, often enjoying 
the luxuries of life, living upon the hard earnings 
of others — the cancers of community — pseudo pat- 
terns of bipeds — leeches on the body politic. 

In this widespread and expanding country, no one 
need be without some useful occupation. All trades 
and professions are open, from the honest hod-car- 
rier, up to the highest place in the agricultural, com- 
mercial and mechanical departments, and from the 
humblest, but not least useful teacher of A, B, C, up 
to the pinnacle of professional fame. Those occupa- 
tions that require manual labor are the surest, most 
healthy, and most independent. 

Men or women with no business, nothing to do, are 
an absolute pest to society. They are thieves, steal- 
ing that which is not theirs ; beggars, eating that 
which they have not earned ; drones, wasting the 
fruits of others' industry ; leeches, sucking the blood of 
others ; evil-doers, setting an example of idleness and 
dishonest living; hypocrites, shining in stolen and 




^^^ 



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)wk 



Vi 



u 



it 






OCCUPATION. 



131 



t-'- 



H 



Ife 




n 








false colors ; vampires, eating out the life of the com- 
munity. Frown uport them, O youth. Learn in 
your heart to despise their course of life. 

Many of our most interesting youth. waste a great 
portion of their early life in fruitless endeavors at 
nothing. They have no trade, no profession, no 
object before them, nothing to do ; and yet have a 
,( J^reat desire to do something, and something worthy 
"^ of themselves. They try this and that, and the other; 
offer themselves to do anything, and everything, and 
yet know how to do nothing. Educate themselves, 
they cannot, for they know not what they should do 
it for. They waste their time, energies, and little 
earnings in endless changes and wanderings. They 
have not the stimulus of a fixed object to fasten their 
attention and awaken their energies ; not a known 
^^grize to win. They wish for good things, but have 
no way to attain them ; desire to be useful Biit Tr 
means for being so. They lay plans, invent schemes, 
form theories, build castles, but never stop to execute 
and realize them. Poor creatures ! All that ails them 
is the want of an object — a single object. They look 
at a hundred things, and see nothing. If they should 
look steadily at one, they would see it distinctly. 
They grasp at random at a hundred things and catch 
nothing. It is like shooting among a scattered flock 
,of pigeons. The chances are doubtful. This will 
never do — no, never. Success, respectability, and 
happiness are found in a permanent business. An 
early choice of some business, devotion to it, and pre- 
paration for it, should be made by every youth. 




'X^^^^^i 





When the two objects, business and character, as 
the ^reat end of Hfe, are fairly before a youth, what 
then ? Why, he must attain those objects. Will 
wishes and prayers bring- them into his hands ? By 
no means. He must work as well as wish, labor as 
well as pray. His hand must be as stout as his 
heart, his arm as strong- as his head. Purpose must 
be followed by action. The choosing of an occupa- 
tion, however, is not a small thing; great mistakes 
are made and often the most worthy pursuits are left. 
The young man who leaves the farm-field for the mer~ 
chant's desk, or the lawyer's or doctor's office, think- 
ing to dignify or ennoble his toil, makes a sad mis- 
take. He passes by that step from independence to 
vassalage. He barters a natural for an artificial pur- 
suit; and he must be the slave of the caprice of cus 
tomers, and the chicane of trade, either to suppori 
himself or to acquire a fortune. The more artificial a 
man's pursuit, the more debasing is it, morally and 
physically. To test it, contrast the merchant's clerk 
with the plow-boy. The former may have the most 
exterior polish, but the latter, under his rough out- 
side, possesses the true stamina. He is the freer, 
franker, happier, and nobler man. Would that young 
men might judge of the dignity of labor by its use- 
fulness, rather than by the superficial glosses it wears. 
Therefore, we never see a man's nobility in his kid 
gloves and toilet adornments, but in that sinewy arm, 
i^hose outlines, browned by the sun, betoken a hardy, 
honest toil, under whose farmer's or mechanic's vest 
the kingliest heart may beat. 





uA 






:•) 



OCCUPATION. 

Above all, the notion that the "three black graces," 
Law, Medicine and Ministry, must be worshiped by 
the candidate for respectability and honor, has done 
incalculable damage to society. It has spoiled many 
a good carpenter, done injustice to the sledge and the 
heated the goose and the shears out of their 
tsv -and committed fraud on the corn and^ the 
potato field: ^^^'TttSilsands have died of broken hearts 
in these professions — thousands who might have 
been happy at the plow, or opulent behind the coun- 
ter; thousands, dispirited and hopeless, look upon 
the healthful and independent calling of the farmer 
with envy and chagrin ; and thousands more, by a 
worse fate still, are reduced to necessities which 
degrade them in their own estimation, rendering the 
most brilliant success but a wretched compensation 
lor the humilation with which it^is^ccoijipanied, and^ j 
compelling them to grind out of the" rhiseries of their 
fellow men the livelihood which is denied to their 
legitimate exertions. The result of all this is, that 
the world is full of men who, disgusted with their 
vocations, getting their living by their weakness 
instead of by their strength, are doomed to hopeless 
inferiority. ''If you choose to represent the various 
parts in life," says Sydney Smith, ''by holes in a table 
of different shapes — some circular, some triangular, 
some square, some oblong — and the persons acting 
these parts by bits of wood of similar shapes, we 
shall generally find that the triangular person has got 
into the square hole, the oblong into the triangular, 
while the square person has squeezed himself into the 






V 




^-Xili 






round hole/' A French writer on agj-riculture ob- 
serves that it is impossible profitably to improve land 
by trying" forcibly to change its natural character — as 
by bringing sand to clay, or clay to sand. The only 
true method is to adapt the cultivation to the nature 
of the soil. So with the moral or intellectual quali- 
ties. Exhortation, self-determination may do much 
to stimulate and prick a man on in a wrong career 
against his natural bent ; but, when the crisis comes, 
this artificial character thus laboriously induced will 
break down, failing at the very time when it is most 
wanted. 

No need of spurs to the little Handel or the boy 
Bach to study music, when one steals midnight inter- 
views with a smuggled clavichord in a secret attic, and 
the other copies whole books of studies by moon- 
light, for want of a candle, churlishly denied. No 
need of whips to the boy- painter. West, when he 
begins in a garret, and plunders the family cat for 
bristles to make his brushes. On the other hand to 
spend years at college, at the work-bench, or in a 
store, and then find that the calling is a wrong one, is 
disheartening to all but men of the toughest fibre. 
The discovery shipwrecks the feeble, and plunges 
ordinary minds into despair. Doubly trying is this 
discovery when one feels that the mistake was made 
in defiance of friendly advice, or to gratify a freak of 
fancy or an idle whim. The sorrows that come upon 
us by the will of God, or through the mistakes of our 
parents, we can submit to with comparative resigna- 
tion ; but the sorrows which we have wrought by our 





EMPLOYMENT. 





own hand, the pitfalls into which we have fallen by 
obstinately ^^oing- on our own way, these are the sore 
places of memory which no time and no patience can 
salve over. 

Be what nature intended you for, and you will suc- 
ceed ; be anything else, and you will be ten thousand 
times worse than nothing. 

^;JLtjs an uncontroverted truth, that no man ever 
an" ill figure who understood his own talents, 
nor a good one who mistook them. Let no young 
man of industry and perfect honesty despair because 
his profession and calling is crowded. Let him 
always remember that there is room enough at the 
top, and that the question whether he is ever to reach 
the top, or rise above the crowd at the base of the 
pyramid, will be decided by the way in which he 
unproves the first ten years of his active life in secur.^jj 
ing to himself a thorough knowledge of his professiorrf 
and a sound moral and intellectual culture. 



\\\ 




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w 



m 



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Im^l^^mtnL 



I TAKE it that men and women were made for busi- 
ness, for activity, for employment. Activity is the 
life of us all. To do and to bear is the duty of life. 
We know that employment makes the man in a very 
great measure. A man witli no employment, nothing 
to do, is scarcely a man. The secret of making men 
is to put them to work, and keep them at it. It is 







EMPLOYMENT. 



not Study, not instruction, not careful moral training, 
not good parents, not good society that makes men. 
These are means ; but back of these lies the grand 
molding influence of men's life. It is employment. 
A man's business does more to make him than every 
thing else. It hardens his muscles, strengthens his 
body, quickens his blood, sharpens his mind, corrects 
his judgment, wakes up his inventive genius, puts his 
wits to work, starts him on the race of life, arouses 
ambition, makes him feel that he is a man and must 
fill a man's shoes, do a man's work, bear a man's part 
in life, and show himself a man in that part. No man 
feels himself a man who is not doing a man's business. 
A man without employment is not a man. He does 
not prove by his works that he is a man. He cannot 
act a man's part. A hundred and fifty pounds of bone 
and muscle is not a man. A good cranium full of 
brains is not a man. The bone and muscle and brain 
must know how to act a man's part, do a man's work, 
think a man's thoughts, mark out a man's path, and 
bear a man's weight of character and duty before 
they constitute a man. A man is body and soul in 
action. A statue, if well dressed, may appear to be 
a man ; so may a human being. But to be a man, 
and appear to be, are two very different things. 
Human beings grow, men are made. The being that 
grows to the stature of a man is not a man till he is 
made one. The grand instrumentality of man-mak- 
ing is employment. The world has long since learned 
that men cannot be made without em.ployment. Hence 
it sets its boys to work; gives them trades, callings, 







professions; puts the instruments of man -making- into 
their hands and tells them to work out their manhood. 
And the most of them do it somehow, not always very 
well. The men who fail to make themselves a respect- 
able manhood are the boys who are put to no busi- 



^^j^^jthe young men who have nothing to do ; the 



re ■beings that have no employment. We have 



^^-^ 





&i 




.^hem about us;i^ryJdiig nuisances ; pestilential gas- 
3^s ; fetid air-bubbles, who burst and are gone. 
Our men of wealth and character, of worth and 
power, have been early bound to some useful employ- 
ment. Many of them were unfortunate orphan boys, 
whom want compelled to work for bread — the chil- 
dren of penury and lowly birth.^ In their early boy- 
hood they buckled on the armor of labor, took upon 
their little shoulders heavy burdens, assumed respon- 
sibilities, met fierce circumstan^s, contended with 
sharp opposition, chose the ruggedest paths ^ ^f 
employment because they yielded the best remunera- 
tion, and braved the storms of toil till they won great 
victories for themselves and stood before the world in 
the beauty and majesty of noble manhood. This is 
the way men are made. There is no other way. 
Their powers are developed in the field of employ- 
ment. 

Men are not born ; they are made. Genius, worth, 
power of mind are more made than born. Genius 
born may grovel in the dust ; genius made will mount 
to the skies. Our great and good men who stand 
along the paths of history bright and shining lights 
are witnesses of these truths. They stand there as 
everlasting pleaders fn.r ^mnlovment. 



\i) 









J ) 



The forbearing- use of power is a sure attribute of 
true g-reatness. Indeed, we may say that power, 
physical, moral, purely social or political, is one of 
the touchstones of genuine g^reatness. 

The power which the husband has over his wife, 
in which we must include the impunity with which he 
maybe unkind to her; the father over his children; /& 
the old over the young, and the young over the 
aged; the strong over the weak; the officer over his 1|' 
men; the master oyer his hands; the magistrate ' 

over the citizens ; the employer over the employed ; 
the rich over the poor ; the educated over the unlet- 
tered ; the experienced over the confiding. The (\ i. [ 
forbearing- and inoffensive use of all this power or \ p I 
authority, or a total abstinence from it, where the 
case admits it, will show the true greatness in a plain 
light. , , 

*'You are a plebeian," said a patrician to Cicero. ;^ i 

*'I am a plebeian," said the eloquent Roman ; "the rllj'', 
nobility of my family begins with me ; that of yours 
will end with you. I hold no man deserves to be 
crowned with honor whose life is a failure ; and he 
who lives only to eat and drink and accumulate 
money, is a failure. The world is no better for his 
living in it. He never wiped a tear from a sad face 
— never kindled a fire upon a frozen hearth. I repeat i J'N \ 
with emphasis, he is a failure. There is no flesh in 



I 

m 




6 . 



A 



^ 



his heart; he worships no God but gold." These 
were the words of a heathen. 

Man is to be rated, not hf his hoards of o^old, not 
by the simple or temporary influence he may for a 
time exert; but by his unexceptionable principles 
relative both to character and religion. Strike out 
these, and what is he? A brute without a virtue — 
a savage without a sympathy ! Take them away 
and his majtship is gone ; he no longer lives in the 
image of his maker! A cloud of sin hangs darkly 
on his brow ; there is ever a tempest on his counte- 
nance, the lightning in his glance, the thunder in 
words, and the rain and whirlwind in the breathing 
of his angry soul. No smile gladdens his lip to tell 
that love is playing there ; no sympathizing glow 
illuminates his cheek. Every word burns with mal- 
^^iie^e, and that voice — the mystic gift of heaven-^ 
^'grates as harshly on the timid ear as rushin/gthundei 
beating amid falling cliffs and tumbling cataracts. 

That which especially distinguishes a high order 
of man from a low order of man — that which consti- 
tutes human goodness, human greatness, human no- 
bleness — is surely not the degree of enlightenment 
with which men pursue their own advantage ; but it 
is self-forgetfulness; it is self-sacrifice; it is the disre- 
gard of personal pleasure, personal indulgence, per- 
sonal advantage, remote or present, because some 
other line of conduct is more right. 

The truest greatness is that which is unseen, 
unknown. Public martyrdom of every shade has a 
certain eclat and popularity connected with it that will 



<F:^?^l 




%■ 



IDLENESS 



often bear men up to endure with courage its trials ; 
but those who suffer alone, without sympathy, for 
truth or principle, those: who, unnoticed by men, 
maintain, their post, and in obscurity, and amid dis- 
couragement, patiently fulfill their trust, these are the 
real heroes of the age, and the suffering they bear is 
true greatness. 

Let man go abroad with just principles, and what 
is he? An exhaustless fountain in a vast desert; a 
glorious sun shining ever, dispelling every vestige of 
darkness. There is love animating his heart, sympa- 
thy breathing in every tone. Tears of pity — dew 
drops of the soul — gather in his eye and gush impet- 
uously down his cheek. A good man is abroad, and 
the world knows and feels it. Beneath his smiles 
lurks no degrading passions. Within his heart there 
slumbers no guile. He is not exalted in moral pride, 
not elevated in his own views ; but honest, moral and 
virtuous before the world. He stands throned on 
truth ; his fortress is wisdom and his dominion is the 
vast and limitless world. Always upright, kind and 
sympathizing ; always attached to just principles and 
actuated by the same, governed by the highest motives 
in doing good. 




-^^ 



^f-f. 



V 




Many moralists have remarked that pride has, of 
all human vices, the widest dominion, appears in the 
greatest multiplicity of forms, and lies hidden under 







IDLENESS. 








the greatest variety of disg-uises — which disguises, 
Hke the moon's veils of brightness, are both its lustre 
and its shade, and betray it to others though they hide 
it from themselves. 

It is not our intention to degrade pride from its pre- 
/tv^^minence, yet we know not whether idleness may not 
V "^ maintain a very doubtful and obstinate position. Idle^, 
^ ness predorninates in many lives where it is not susV 
^"^ pecte^^^for, l^eing a vice which terminates in itself, it 
may oe enjoyed without injury to others, and therefore 
is not watched like fraud, which endangers property, 
or like pride, which naturally seeks its gratification in 
other's inferiority. 

Idleness is a silent and peaceful quality that neither 
raises envy by ostentation nor hatred by opposition. 
There are some who profess idleness in its full dignity ;^ 
)^;^^^";they boast because they do nothing, and Tthank theif 
g stars that they have nothing to do ^who sleep every 

night until they cannot sleep any longer, and then rise 
only that exercise may enable them to sleep again ; 
who prolong the reign of darkness by double curtains, 
and never see the sun but to tell him how they hate 
his beams ; whose whole labor is to vary the posture 
of indulgence, and whose day differs from their night 
but as a couch or a chair differs from a bed. These 
are the true and open votaries of idleness, who exist 
in a state of unruffled stupefied laziness, forgetting 
and forgotten, who have long ceased to live, and at 
whose death the survivors can only say that they 
have ceased to breathe. Such a person is an annoy- 
ance — he is of no use to anybody — he is an intruder 







lii 







IDLENESS. 

usy thoroughfare of every-day Hfe — he is of 
no advantage ; he annoys busy men — he makes them 
unhappy ; he may have an income to support his idle- 
ness, or he may sponge on his good-natured friends, 
but in either case he is despised ; he is a criminal 
prodigal, and a prolific author of want and shame ; he 
is a confused work-shop for the devil to tinker in, and 
no good can ever be expected from him ; in short, he 
is a nuisance in the world, and needs abatement for 
the public good. Idleness is the bane of body and 
mind, the nurse of haughtiness, the chief author of all 
mischief, one of seven deadly sins — the cushion upon 
which the devil reposes, and a great cause not only 
of melancholy but of many other diseases, for the 
mind is naturally active, and if it be not occupied about 
some honest business, it rushes into mischief or sinks 
into melancholy. Of all contemptible things, there is 
nothing half so wretched as a lazy man. The Turks 
say the devil tempts everybody, but the idle man 
tempts the devil. When we notice that a man can be 
a professional loafer, a successful idler, with less capi- 
tal, less brains, than are required to succeed in any 
other profession, we cannot blame him so much after 
all, for those are things that the idler is generally 
destitute of; and we can notice it as an actual fact, 
that they succeed in their business, and it costs them 
no energy, no brains, no character, ''no nothing." 
They are dead beats ; they should not be classed 
among the living — they are a sort of dead men that 
cannot be buried. 

Idleness is an ingredient in the upper current, 




m 





■5b// 




r 




which was scarcely known, and never countenanced, 
in the good old linsey-woolsey, tow-and-linen, mush- 
and-milk, pork and-potato times of the pilgrim fathers, 
and revolutionary patriots. We now have those among 
us, who would rather go hungry and be clad in rags, 
than to work. We also have a numerous train of 
gentleman idlers, who pass down the stream of life 
at the expense of their fellow passengers. They live 
well, and dress well, as long as possible, by borrow- 
ing and sponging, and then take to gambling, swind- 
ling, stealing, robbing ; and often pass on for years, 
before justice overtakes them. So long as these per- 
sons can keep up fashionable appearances, and elude 
the police, they are received into the company of the 
upper ten thousand. Many an idle knave, by means 
of a fine coat, a lily hand, and a graceful bow^has 
been received into xh^ polite circles of society with 
eclat, and w^alked, rough-shod, over a worthy young 
mechanic or farmer, who had too much good sense to 
make a dash, or imitate the monkey-shines of an 
itinerant dandy. A fine dress, in the eyes of some, 
covers more sins than charity. 

If thus the young man wishes to be nobody, his 
way is easy. He need only go to the drinking saloon 
to spend his leisure time ; he need not drink much at 
first, only a little beer, or some other drink ; in the 
meantime play dominoes, checkers, or something else, 
to kill time, so that he is sure not to read any useful 
books. If he reads at all, let it be some of the dime 
novels of the day. Thus go on, keep his stomach 
full and his head empty, and he will soon graduate a 



^W^ 



nobody, unless (as it is quite likely) he should turn 
out a drunkard or a professional gambler, which is 
worse than a nobody. 

Young man, if you do not wish to be a nobody, or 
somebody much worse than nobody, then guard your 
youth. A lazy youth will be a lazy man, just as sure 
as a crooked sapling makes a crooked tree. Who 
ever saw a youth grow up in idleness who did not 
make a lazy, shiftless vagabond when he was old 
enough to be a man, though he was not a man by 
character. The great mass of thieves, paupers and 
criminals have come to what they are by being brought 
up to do nothing useful. Laziness grows on people ; 
it begins in cob-web and ends in iron chains. If you 
will be nothing, just wait to be somebody. That 
man that waits for an opportunity to do much at once, 
may breathe out his life in idle wishes, and finally regret 
^W, useless intentions and barren zeal — a young man 
idle, an old man needy. Idleness travels very leis- 
urely along, and poverty soon overtakes her — to be 
/g^e is to be poor. It is said that pride and poverty 
are inconsistent companions, but when idleness unites 
them the depth of wretchedness is complete. Leisure 
is sweet to those who have earned it, but burdensome 
to those who get it for nothing. 

Arouse yourself, young man ! Shake off the 
wretched and disgraceful habits of the do-nothing, if 
you have been so unfortunate as to incur them, and 
go to work at once! **But what shall I do?" you 
perhaps ask. Anything^ rather than continue in 
dependent, and enfeebling, and demoralizing idleness. 



1 





>'7 



.EDUCATION. ^45 

ff you can get nothing- else to do, sweep the streets. 
But you are ''ashamed" to do that. If so, your shame 
has been very slow in manifesting itself, seeing- how 
long you have been acting-, on life's great stage, the 
despicable parts of drone and loafer, zvithoiit shame ! 
Idler ! Take the foreg-oing- home to yourself. 
Don't try to persuade yourself that the cap dose n't 
fit you. Honestly acknowledge its fitness. It will 
be a great point gained, to become honest with your- 
self. It will be a step forward — a step toward that f^^^ 
justice to others which your present conduct abso- 
lutely ignores ! ;,, 






greater mobility in the hand. 






a\ 



■ J 

Manufacturers find intelligent, educated mechanics 
more profitable to employ, even at higher wages, than 
those who are uneducated. We have never met any 
one who had much experience in employing large \ 
numbers of men who did not hold this opinion, and, 
as a general rule, those manufacturers are most suc- 
cessful who are most careful to secure intelligent and 
skillful workmen. 

It requires extensive observation to enable one 
even partially to appreciate the wonderful extent to 
which all the faculties are developed by mental culti- 
vation. The nervous system grows more vigorous 
and active, the touch is more sensitive, and there is ^f 



^ 



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i 



pe^: 




/ 4 

I f M 

Ijll 




We once knew a weaving room filled with i^irls 
above the average in character and intelligence, and 
there was one girl among them who had been highly 
educated. Though length of arms and strength of 
muscle are advantages in weaving, and though this 
girl was short and small, she always wove the greatest 
number of pieces in the room, and consequently drew 
the largest pay at the end of every month. We 
might fill many pages with similar cases which have 
come under our own observation, but there is no 
occasion. It has long since been settled by the gen- 
eral observation of manufacturers, that intelligent 
workmen will do more and better work than ignorant 
ones. 

But the excess in the amount of work performed is 
not the most important respect in which an intelligent 
workman is superior to a stupid one. He is far more 
likely to be faithful to the interests of his employer, 
to save from waste and to turn to profit every thing 
that comes to his hand. There is also the exalted 
satisfaction of being surrounded by thinking, active 
and inquiring minds, instead of by ignorance. 

Such are some of the advantages to the ''Captains 
of Industry," which result from the employment of 
intelligent workmen ; not in one article, nor any num- 
ber of articles, could these advantages be fully set 
forth. And if it is impossible to state the advantages 
to the employer, how vain must be the effort to 
describe those which result to the workman himself! 

The increase of wages is the least and lowest of 
the rich rewards of mental culture. The whole 








m 



i 







u 



I 




EDUCATION 



being- is enlarged and exalted ; the scope of view is 
widened ; the objects of interest are increased ; the 
subjects of thought are multiplied ; life is more filled 
with emotion ; and the man is raised in the scale 
of creation. 

To intelligent English travelers, nothing in the 
United States has excited so much wonder and 
admiration as Lowell, Nashua, Manchester, Law- 
rence, and the other manufacturing towns of New 
England. That factory-girls should play on the 
piano, and sustain a creditable magazine by their 
own contributions ; that their residences should be 
clean, commodious, and elegant; that factory-men 
should be intelligent g'entlemen, well-read in litera- 
ture, and totally unacquainted with beer and its 
inspirations, have been, for many years, the crowning 
/marvels of America to all travelers of right feeling 
and good judgment. -^^^ 

Daniel Webster says: *' Knowledge does not com- 
prise all which is contained in the large term of 
education. The feelings are to be disciplined, the 
passions are to be restrained; true and worthy 
motives are to be inspired ; a profound religious 
feeling is to be instilled, and pure morality inculcated 
under all circumstances. All this is comprised in 
education." 

Too many have imbibed the idea that to obtain a 
sufficient education to enable a man to appear advan- 
tageously upon the theatre, especially of public life ; 
his boyhood and youth must be spent within the walls 
of some classical seminary of learning, that he may 





148 



EDUCATION. 



iU 



^SVx 



-f 



commence his career under the high floating banner 
of a collegiate diploma — with them, the first round 
in the ladder of fame. 

That a refined, classical education is desirable, and 
one of the accomplishments of a man, we admit — 
that it is indispensably necessary, and always makes 
a man more useful, we deny. He who has been 
incarcerated, from his childhood, up to his majority, 
within the limited circumference of his school and 
boarding room, although he may have mastered all 
the classics, is destitute of that knowledge of men 
and things, indispensably necessary to prepare him 
for action, either in private or public life. Classic 
lore and polite literature are very different from that 
vast amount of common intelligence, fit for every day 
use, that he mitst have, to render his intercourse with 
society pleasing to himself, or agreeable to others. 
He is liable to imposition at every turn he makes. 
He may have a large fund oi fine sense, but if he 
lacks common sense, he is like a ship without a rud- 
der. Let boys and girls be taught, first and last, all 
that is necessary to prepare them for the common 
duties of life — if the classics and polite literature can 
be worked between the coarser branches, they will be 
much safer — as silk goods are, enclosed in canvas, or 
a bale. We wish not to undervalue high seminaries 
of learning — but rather to stimulate those to perse- 
vere in the acquirement of science, who are deprived 
of the advantage of their dazzling lights. Franklin, 
Sherman, and others, emerged from the work shop, 
and illuminated the world as brightly as the most 



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-c3»^ 



EDUCATION. 



149 



V:^. 



>: 



profound scholar from a college. In this enlightened 
age, and in our free country, all who will, may drink, 
deeply, at the pure fountain of science. Ignorance is 
a voluntary misfortune. By a proper improvement 
of time, the apprentice of the mechanic may lay in a 
stock of useful knowledge, that will enable him, when 
he arrives at manhood, to take a respectable stand by 
the side of those who have grown up in the full blaze 
of a collegiate education — and with a better prospect 
of success at the start, because he is much better 
stocked with common information, without which a 
man is a poor, helpless animal. 

Education of every kind has two values — value as 
knowledge and value as discipline. Besides its use 
for guidance in conduct, the acquisition of each order 
of facts has also its use as mental exercise ; and its 
effects as a preparative for complete living have to be 
considered under both these heads. '^^^& 

Education cannot be acquired without pains and 
application. It is troublesome and deep digging for 
pure water, but when once you come to the springs, 
they rise up and meet you. Every grain helps fill 
the bushel, so does the improvement of every moment 
increase knowledge. 

Says Swedenborg: "It is of no advantage to man 
to know much, unless he lives according to what he 
knows, for knowledge has no other end than good- 
ness ; and he who is made good is in possession of a 
far richer treasure than he whose knowledge is the 
most extensive, and yet is destitute of goodness ; for, 
what the latter is seeking by his great acquirements, 
the former already possesses/' 






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EDUCATION. 









One of the most agreeable consequences of knowl- 
edge is the respect and importance which it commu- 
nicates to old age. Men rise in character often as 
they increase in years ; they are venerable from what 
they have acquired and pleasing from what they can 
impart. Knowledge is the treasure, but judgment 
the treasurer of a wise man. Superficial knowledge, 
pleasure dearly purchased, and subsistence at the will 
of another, are the disgrace of mankind. 

' The chief properties of wisdom are to be mindful 
of things past, careful for things present, and provi- 
dent of things to come. 

He that thinks himself the happiest man is really 
so ; but he that thinks himself the wisest is generally 
the greatest fool. 

A wise man, says Seneca, is provided for occurren-^ 
ces of any kind: the good he manages, the bad he 
vanquishes ; in prosperity he betrays no presumption, 
and in adversity he feels no despondency. 

By gaining a good education you shall have your 
reward in the rich stores of knowledge you have thus 
collected, and which shall ever be at your command. 
More valuable than earthly treasure — while fleets 
may sink, and storehouses consume, and banks may 
totter, and riches flee, the intellectual investments you 
have thus made will be permanent and enduring, 
unfailing as the constant flow of Niagara or Amazon 
— a bank whose dividends are perpetual, whose 
wealth is undiminished however frequent the drafts 
uQon it ; which, though moth may impair, yet thieves 
cannot break through nor steal. 



%: 



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OPPORTUNITY. 



151 




i«H 



1 









/) 







Nor will you be able to fill these storehouses to 
their full. Pour into a glass a stream of water, and 
at last it fills to the brim and will not hold another 
drop. But you may pour into your mind, throug-h a 
whole lifetime, streams of knowledge from every con- 
ceivable quarter, and not only shall it never be full, 
but it will constantly thirst for more, and welcome 
each fresh supply with a greater joy. 
:^^^^^^7 more, to all around you may impart of these 
gladdening streams which have so fertilized your own 
mind, and yet, like the candle from which a thousand 
other candles may be lit without diminishing its flame, 
your supply shall not be impaired. On the contrary, 
your knowledge, as you add to it, will itself attract 
still more as it widens your realm of thought ; and 
thus will you realize in your own life the parable of 
the ten talents, for ''to him that hath shall be giv'^n." 

The beginning of wisdom is to fear God^ but th^g- 
end of it is to love him. The highest learning is to 
be wise ; and the greatest wisdom is to be good. The 
wise man looks forward into futurity, and considers 
what will be his condition millions of ages hence, as 
well as what it is at present. 



Many do with opportunity as children do at the 
sea-shore ; they fill their little hands with sand, then let 
the g-rains fall thro u eh one by one, till tjiey are all 
gone. 






u 




^52 OPPORTUNITY. 




5^ 



Four things come not back ; the spoken word ; the 
sped arrow ; the past Hfe ; and the neglected oppor- 
tunity. Opportunity has hair in front, behind she is 
bald ; if you seize her by the forelock you may hold 
her, but if suffered to escape, not Jupiter himself can 
catch her again. Opportunities are the offers of God, 
Heaven gives us enough when it gives us opportu- 
nity. Great opportunities are generally the result of 
the wise improvement of small ones. Wise men | 

make more opportunities than they find. If you think 
your opportunities are not good enough, you had bet- 
ter improve them. Remember you are responsible 
for talents, for time and for opportunities ; improve 
them as one that must give an account. Make hay 
while the sun shines. Gather roses while they 
bloom. 

As a general rule, those who have no opportunities 
despise small ones ; and those who despise small 
opportunities never get large ones. 

Opportunity does not only do great work, but if 
not heeded is often most disastrous. 

A shipmaster once said, ''It was my lot to fall In 
with the Ill-fated steamer, the ' Central America.' The 
night was closing In, the sea rolling high ; but I 
hailed the crippled steamer, and asked if they needed 
help. 'I am in a sinking condition,' cried Captain 
Herndon. ' Had you not better send your passengers 
on board directly ?' I said. 'Will you not lay by me till 
morning?' answered Captain Herndon. 'I will try,' 
I replied; 'but had you not better send your passen- 
gers on board now ?' * Lay by me till morning,' again 






OPPORTUNITY. 153 



said Captain Herndon. I tried to lay by him; but at 
night such was the heavy roll of the sea I could not 
keep my position, and I never saw the steamer 
again. In an hour and a half after the captain said 
'Lay by me till morning,' the vessel, with its living 
freight, went down — the captain and crew, and a || 

great majority of passengers, found a grave in the 
deep." There is so little time for over-squeamishness 
at present that the opportunity slips away ; the very 
period of life at which a man chooses to venture, if 
ever, is so confined that it is no bad rule to preach up 
the neccessity, in such instances, of a little violence 
done to the feelings, and of efforts made in defiance of ^ , 

strict and sober calculation and not pass one opportu- 
nity after another. 

What may be done at any time, will be done at no 
time. Take time while time is, for time will away, 
say the English. When the fool has made up his 
mind, the market has gone by ; Spanish. A little too 
late, much too late ; Dutch. Some refuse roast meat, ^4 ^ 
and afterwards long for the smoke of it ; Italian. 

There is sometimes wanting only a stroke of for- 
tune to discover numberless latent good or bad quali- 
ties, which would otherwise have been eternally con- 
cealed ; as words written wnth a certain liquor appear 
only when brought near the fire. 

Accident does very little toward the production of 
any great result in life. Though sometimes what is 
called a ''happy hit" may be made by a bold venture, 
the old and common highway of steady industry and 
application is the only safe road to travel. 




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SPARE MOMENTS. 



It is not accident that helps a man in the world, 
but purpose and persistent industry. These make a 
man sharp to discern opportunities, and turn them to 
account. To the feeble, the sluggish, and purpose- 
less, the happiest opportunities avail nothing — they 
are passed by and no meaning is seen in them. 



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If we are prompt to seize and improve even the 
shortest intervals of possible action and effort, it is 
astonishing how much can be accomplished. Watt 
taught himself chemistry and mechanics while work- 
ing at his trade of a mathematical instrument maker ; 
and he availed himself of every opportunity to extend 
his knowledge of language, literature, and the 
principles of science. Stephenson taught himself 
arithmetic and mensuration while working as an 
engineer during the night shifts, and he studied 
mechanics during his spare hours at home, thus 
preparing himself for the great work of his life — the 
invention of the railway locomotive. 

With perseverance, the very odds and ends of time 
may be worked up into results of the greatest value. 
An hour in every day withdrawn from frivolous pur- 
suits, would, if profitably employed, enable any man 
of ordinary capacity, very shortly to master a com- 
plete science. It would make an ignorant man a 
well-informed man in ten years. We must not allow 



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SPARE MOMENTS. 



155 



45» 



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the time to pass without yielding fruits, in the form of 
something learned worthy of being known, some 
good principle cultivated, or some good habit strength- 
ened. Dr. Mason Good translated Lucretius while 
riding in his carriage in the streets of London, going 
his rounds among his patients. Dr. Darwin com- 
posed nearly all his works in the same way, while 
riding about in his "sulky," from house to house in 
the country — writing down his thoughts on little 
scraps of paper, which he carried about with him for 
the purpose. Hale wrote his "contemplations" 
while traveling on a circuit. Dr. Burney learned 
French and Italian while traveling on horseback from 
one musical pupil to another in the course of his pro- 
fession. Kirk White learned Greek while walking to 
and from a lawyer's office ; and we personally know 
a man of eminent position in a northern manufacturing 
town, who learned Latin and French while going 
messages as an errand boy in the streets of Man- 
chester. 

Elihu Burritt attributed his first success in self- 
improvement, not to genius, which he disclaimed, but 
simply to the careful employment of those invaluable 
fragments of time, called "odd moments." While 
working and earning his living as a blacksmith, he 
mastered some eig.hteen ancient and modern lan- 
guages, and twenty-two European dialects. Withal, 
he was exceedingly modest, and thought his achieve- 
ments nothing extraordinary. Like another learned 
and wise man, of whom it was said that h,e could be 
silent in ten langfuas^es, Elihu Burritt could do the 







v-N^^??, 







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156 




SPARE MOMENTS 



same in forty. ''Those who have been acquainted 
with my character from my youth up," said he, writing 
to a friend, ''will give me credit for sincerity when I 
say, that it never entered into my head to blazon 
forth any acquisition of my own. ^ ^ ^ All that 
I have accomplished, or expect, or hope to accom- 
plish, has been and will be by that plodding, patient, 
persevering process of accretion which builds the ant- 
heap — particle by particle, thought by thought, fact 
by fact. And if ever I was actuated by ambition, its 
highest and warmest aspirations reached no further 
than the hope to set before the young men of my 
country an example in employing those invaluable 
fragments of time called 'odd moments.'" 

Daguesseau, one of the great chancellors of France, 
by carefully working up his odd bits of time, wrote a 
bulky and able volume in the successive intervals of 
waiting for dinner ; and Madame de Gentis composed 
several of her charming volumes while waiting for the 
princess to whom she gave her daily lessons. Jeremy 
Bentham in like manner disposed of his hours of labor 
and repose, so that not a moment should be lost, the 
arrangement being determined on the principle that it 
is a calamity to lose the smallest portion of time. He 
lived and worked habitually under the practical con- 
sciousness that man's days are numbered, and that 
the night cometh when no man can work. 

What a solemn and striking admonition to youth is 
that inscribed on the dial at All Souls, Oxford, Eng- 
land, ''Periunt et imptttanhir ^' the hours perish and 
are laid to our charge. For time, like life, can never 




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SPARE MOMENTS. -157 




be recalled. Melanchthoii noted down the time lost 
by him, that he might thereby reanimate his industry, ^^^ft 
and not lose an hour. An Italian scholar put over 
his door an inscription intimating that whosoever if' '^ 

remained there should join in his labors. *'We are 
afraid," said some visitors to Baxter, "we break in 
upon your time." ''To be sure you do," replied the,, 
disturbed and blunt divine. Time was the estate outv 
of which these great workers, and all other workers, 
Li^ carved a rich inheritance of thoughts and deeds for j^Y^., 

'"^ their successors. v;;.'^^^' 

Sir Walter Scott found spare moments for self-im- |> 

provement in every pursuit, and turned even accidents CjA 

to account. Thus it was in the discharge of his func- .^^% 
tions as a writer's apprentice that he first penetrated 
into the Highlands, and formed those friendships 
among the surviving heroes of 1 745 which served to 
lay the foundation for a large class of his works. Later 
in life, when employed as quartermaster of the Edin- 
burgh Light Cavalry, he was accidentally disabled by f^^^l 
the kick of a horse, and confined for some time to his 
house ; but Scott was a sworn enemy to Idleness, and 
^•If ^ he forthwith set his mnnd to work, and in three days y 

composed the first canto of "The Lay of the Last 
Minstrel," his first great original work. 
I Let not, then, the young man sit with folded hands, 

I V calling on Hercules. Thine own arm is the demi-god. 

vo It was given thee to help thyself Go forth Into the 

world trustful, but fearless. Exalt thine adopted call- 
ing or profession. Look on labor as honorable, and 
dignify the task before thee, whether it be in the 



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BOOKS. 



Study, office, counting-room, work-shop, or furrowed 
field. There is an equahty in all, and the resolute 
will and pure heart may ennoble either. 




^mim- 



No MAN has a right to bring up his children with- 
out surrounding them with books. It is a wrong to 
his family. He cheats them. Children learn to read 
by being in the presence of books. The love of 
knowledge comes with reading, and grows upon it. 
And the love of knowledge in a young mind is almost 
a warrant against the inferior excitement of passions 
and vices. 

A little library, growing larger every year, is an 
honorable part of a young man's history. It is a 
man's duty to have books. A library is not a luxury, 
but one of the necessaries of life. It is not like a 
dead city of stones, yearly crumbling, and needing 
repair ; but like a spiritual tree. There it stands and 
yields its precious fruit from year to year and from 
age to age. 

Carlyle saw the influence of books many years ago. 
"I say, of all the priesthoods, aristocracies — 
governing classes at present extant in the world — 
there is no class comparable for importance to the 
priesthood of the writers of books." 

The art of v/riting, and of printing, wh^ch is a 




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159 



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sequence to It, is really the most wonderful thing- in the 
world. Books are the soul of actions, the only audible, 
articulate voice of the accomplished facts of the past. 
The men of antiquity are dead ; their fleets and 
armies have disappeared ; their cities are ruins ; their 
temples are dust ; yet all these exist in magic preser- 
vation in the books they have bequeathed us, and 
their manners and their deeds are as familiar to us 
as the events of yesterday. And these papers and 
books, the mass of printed matter which we call 
literature, are really the teacher, guide and law-giver 
of the world to-day. 

The influence of books upon man is remarkable ; 
they make the man. You may judge a man more 
truly by the books and papers which he reads than 
by the company which he keeps, for his associates 
are often, in a manner, imposed upon him ; but his 
reading is the result of choice, and the man who 
chooses a certain class of books and papers uncon- 
sciously becomes more colored in their views, more 
rooted in their opinions, and the 7nind becomes fettered 
to their views. 

All the life and feeling of a young girl fascinated 
by some glowing love romance, is colored and shaped 
by the page she reads. If it be false, and weak, and 
foolish, she will be false, and weak, and foolish, too ; 
but if it be true, and tender, and inspiring, then some- 
thing of its truth, and tenderness, and inspiration will 
grow into her soul and become a part of her very self. 
The boy who reads deeds of manliness, of bravery 
and noble daring, feels the spirit of emulation grow 



1 



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iQQ BOOKS. 

within him, and the seed is planted which will bring 
forth fruit of heroic endeavor and exalted life. 

A good book is the most appropriate gift that 
friendship can make. It never changes, it never 
grows unfashionable or old. It is soured by no neg- 
lect, is jealous of no rival ; but always its clean, clear 
pages are ready to amuse, interest and instruct. The 
voice that speaks the thought may change or grow 
still forever, the heart that prompted the kindly and 
cheering word may grow cold and forgetful ; but the 
page that mirrors it is changeless, faithful, immortal. 
The Book that records the incarnation of divine love, 
is God's best gift to man, and the books which are 
filled with kindly thought and generous sympathy, 
are the best gifts of friend to friend. 

Every family ought to be well supplied with a choice 
supply of books for reading. This may be seen from 
the consequences of its neglect and abuse on the one 
hand, and from its value and importance on the other. 
Parents should furnish their children the necessary 
means, opportunities and direction of a Christian 
education. Give them proper books. ''Without 
books," says the quaint Bartholin, ''God is silent, 
justice dormant; science at a stand, philosophy lame, 
letters dumb, and all things involved in Cimmerian 
darkness." Bring them up to the habit of properly 
reading and studying these books. "A reading peo- 
ple will soon become a thinking people, and a think- 
ing people must soon become a great people." 
Every book you furnish your child, and which it 
reads with reflection, is "like a cast of the weaver's 





THE GUARDIAN ANGEL 

Woe to him who smiles not over a cradle. Those who have never tried the companionship 

of a little child have carelessly passed by one of the greatest pleasures of life, as 

one passes a rare flower without plucking it or knowing its value. 




^=^#^ 



>>> 



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BOOKS. 



161 




a 




A 1 ■*-; . "^ 




shuttle, adding another thread to the Indestructible 
web of existence." It will be worth more to him 
than all your hoarded gold and silver. 

Dear reader, be independent and make up your 
mind what it is best for you to read, and read it. 
Master a few good books. Life is short and books are 
many. Instead of having your mind a garret crowded ( 
with rubbish, rnafc^^it a parlor with rich furniture,^ 

-beau^ffliy arranged, in which you would not be 
ashanied to have the whole world enter. " Readers," 
says Addison, ''who are in the flower of their youth 
should labor at those accomplishments which may 
set off their persons when their bloom is gone, and 
to lay in timely provisions for manhood and old age." 
Says Dr. Watts: ''A line of the golden verses of 
the Pythagoreans recurring in the memory hath often 

-tempted youth to frown on temptation to vice." Nd-^i^^^M 
less worthy is the following: ''There are many' '• v^.^'V 
silver books, and a few golden books ; but I have f\] 

one book worth more than all, called the Bible, and /-Ji 

that is a book of bank notes." The parent who lives \ 'J 
for his children's souls will often consider what other f\ 

books are most likely to prepare his little ones for M. 

prizing aright that Book of Books, and make that ^1 

object the pole star of his endeavors. f! 

Every book has a moral expression, though as in 
the human face, it may not be easy to say what it 
consists in. We may take up some exquisite poem or 
story, with no distinctly religious bearing, and feel 
that it is religious, because it strikes a chord so deep 
in human nature that we feel that it is only the divine 
II 






nature, ''God who encompasses," that can respond to 
what it calls forth. When we feel the inspiring influ- 
ence of books, when we are lifted on the wings of 
ancient genius, w^e should jealously avoid the perver- 
sion of the gift. The children of this world have 
their research and accomplishment, and enough is 
done for pleasure and fame ; but the Christian scholar 
will rebuke himself, unless he find it in his heart to be 
more alive in devotion to heavenly things, at the very 
moment when he has breathed the aroma of poetry 
and eloquence. Some books are to be tasted,'others 
to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and 
digested : that is, some books are to be read only in 
parts ; others to be read, but not curiously ; and some 
few to be read wholly, and with diligence and atten- 
tion. Some books also may be read by deputy, and 
extracts made of them by others; but that w^ould be 
only in the less important arguments, and the meaner 
sort of books; else distilled books are, like common 
distilled waters, flashy things. 

" Not to know what was before 3^ou w^ere," as has 
been truly said, '' is to be always a child.'' And it 
is equally true that he never becomes a complete 
man, who learns nothing of the former days, from 
reading. " Books," sa3^s a good writer, '' are the 
crystalline founts, which hold in eternal ice the imper- 
ishable gems of the past." 

Good books are invaluable as a moral guard to a 
young man. The culture of a taste for such reading, 
keeps one quiety at home, and prevents a thirst for 
exciting recreations and debasing pleasure. It makes 






Y! 



him scorn whatever is low, coarse, and vulg-ar. It pre- 
vents that weary and restless temper which drives so 
many to the saloon, if not the gambling- table, to while 
away their leisure hours. Once form the habit of 
domestic reading, and you will, at any time, prefer an 
interesting book, to frequenting the haunts of vice. 

Chief among the educational influences of a house- 
jij»Id are its books. Therefore, good sir or madam, 
wherever^'you economize, do not cut off the supply of 
good literature. Have the best books, the best 
papers, and the best magazines, though you turn 
your old black silk once more, and make the old coat 
do duty another season. Nothing will compensate 
to your boys and girls for the absence of those quiet, 
kindly teachers, who keep such order in their schools, 
and whose invaluable friendship never cools or suffers 
lange. You may go without pies and cake, %^ 
'without butter on your bread, but, if you^^gife-^J 
your family's best happiness and progress, you will 
not go without the best of books, such as Shakspeare 
and the best authors of the day. 

In books we live continually in the decisive moments 
of history, and in the deepest experience of individual 
lives. The flowers which we cull painfully and at 
long intervals in our personal history, blossom in 
profusion here, and the air is full of a fragrance which 
touches our own life only in the infrequent springs. 
In our libraries we meet great men on a familiar foot- 
ing, and are at ease with them. We come to know 
them better, perhaps, than those who bear their 
names and sit at their tables. The reserve that makes 



% 





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164 




IJOOKS. 




so muny fine natures difficult of access is entirely lost. 
No crudeness of manner, no poverty of speech or 
unfortunate personal peculiarity, mars the intercourse 
of author and reader. It is a relation in which the 
interchang-e of thought is undisturbed by outward 
conditions. We lose our narrow selves in the broader 
life that is opened to us. We forget the hindrances 
and limitations of our own work in the full compre- 
hension of that stronger life that cannot be bound 
nor confined, but grows in all soils and climbs heav- 
enward under every sky. It is the privilege of 
greatness to understand life in its height and depth. 
Hazlitt has told us of his first interview with Cole- 
ridge, and of the moonlight walk homeward, when 
the eloquent lips of the great conversationalist awoke 
the slumbering genius within him, and made the old 
familiar world strange and wonderful under a sky that 
seemed full of new stars. Such intercourse with 
gifted men is the privilege of few ; but in the seclu- 
sion of the library there often grows up an acquaint- 
ance more thorough and inspiring. Books are rich, 
not only in thought and sentiment, but in character. 
Where shall we find in any capitals such majesty as 
''doth hedge about" the kings of Shakspeare, or 
such brave and accomplished gentlemen as adorn his 
courts and measure wit and courtesy with the fair and 
graceful women of his fancy? 

The best society in the world is that which lives in 
books. No taint of vulgarity attaches to it, no petty 
strife for place and power disturbs its harmony, no 
falsehood stains its perfect truth ; and those who move 











r 




READING. 



habitually in these associations find a strength which 
is the more controlling because molded by genius into 
forms of grace and refinement. 

There is a certain monotony in daily life, and those 
whose aims are high, but who lack the inherent 
strength to stand true to them amid adverse influ- 
'^V Varices, gradually drop out of the ever-thinning ranks-/" 
of the aspiring.:: They are conquered by routine, and 
disheartened by the discipline and labor that guard 
the prizes of life. Even to the strongest there are 
hours of weakness and weariness. To the weak, and 
to the strong in their times of weakness, books are 
inspiring friends and teachers. Against the feeble- 
ness of individual efforts they proclaim the victory of 
faith and patience, and out of the uncertainty and 
diseouragement of one day's work they prophesy thq 
)^^^fuller and richer life, that graws ^strong and deep! 
through conflict, sets itself more and more in har- 
mony with the noblest aims, and is at last crowned 
v^rith honor and power. 



M=. 



m, 




m 









There are four classes of readers. The first is like 
the hour-glass ; and its reading being on the sand, it 
runs in and runs out and leaves no vestige behind. 
A second is like a sponge, which imbibes everything, 
and returns it in the same state, only a little dirtier. 
A third is like a jelly bag, allowing all that is pure to 




M"'^l.,;lllii^ 



/ 



iV 




166 



pass away, and retaining- only the refuse and dregs. 
The fourth is Hke the slaves in the diamond minds of 
Golconda, who, casting aside all that is worthless, 
obtain only pure g^ems. 

One's reading is, usually, a fair index of his char- 
acter. Observe in almost any house you visit, the 
books which lie customarily on the centre-table ; or 
note what are taken by preference from the public or 
circulating- library ; and you may judge, in no small 
degree, not only the intellectual tastes and the g'en- 
eral intelligence of the family, but also — and what is 
of far deeper moment — you may pronounce on the 
moral attainments and the spiritual advancement of 
most of the household. "A man is known," it is 
said, ''by the company he keeps." It is equally true 
that a man's character may be, to a great extent, 
ascertained by knowing- what books he reads. 

The tempation to corrupt reading is usually strong- 
est at the period when the education of the school- 
room is about closing. The test of the final utilit), 
however, is the time when our youth leave these 
schools. If the mind be now awakened to a manly 
independence, and start on a course of vigorous self- 
culture, all will be well. But if, on the other hand, 
it sink into a state of inaction, indifferent to its own 
needs, and to all the highest ends and aims of life, 
then woe to the man. For few, very few, ever rouse 
themselves in mid-life to a new intellectual taste, and 
to an untried application of their time and powers 
to that culture for which the Creator formed and 
endowed them. 





READING. 



167 



To read books which present false pictures of 
human Hfe is decidedly dangerous, and we would say 
stand aloof! Life is neither a tragedy nor a farce. 
Men are not all either knaves or heroes. Women 
are neither angels nor furies. And yet, if you de- 
pended upon much of the literature of the day, you 
would g-et the idea that life, instead of beinof some- 
tfiog earnest, something practical, is a fitful and fan- 
tastic and extravagant thing. How poorly prepared 
are that young man and that young woman for the 
duties of to-day who spent last night wading through 
brilliant passages descriptive of magnificent knavery 
and wickedness ! The man will be looking all day 
long for his heroine in the tin shop, by the forge, in 
the factory, in the counting-room, and he will not 
find her, and he will be dissatisfied. A man who 
himself up to the indiscriminate reading of 
ovels will be nerveless, inane, and a nuisance. Me^ 
will be fit neither for the store, nor the shop, nor the 
field. A woman who gives herself up to the indis- 
criminate reading of novels will be unfitted for the 
duties of wife, mother, sister, daughter. There she 
is, hair disheveled, countenance vacant, cheeks pale, 
hands trembling, bursting into tears at midnight over 
the fate of some unfortunate lover; in the day-time, 
when she ought to be busy, staring by the half hour 
at nothing ; biting her finger-nails to the quick. The 
carpet that was plain before, will be plainer, after 
having, through a romance all night long, wandered in 
tessellated halls of castles. And your industrious 
companion will be more unattractive than ever, iioav 



VX 



^1 



168 



READING. 



f:i 




that you have walked in the romance through parks 
with plumed princesses, or loung-ed in the arbor with 
the polished desperado. 

Abstain from all those books which, while they 
have some good things about them, have also an 
adjuixture of evil. You have read books that had 
the two elements in them — the good and the bad. 
Which stuck to you? The bad! The heart of most 
people is like a sieve, which lets the small particles of 
gold fall through, but keeps the great cinders. Once 
in a while there is a mind like a loadstone, which, 
plunged amid steel and brass filings, gathers up the 
steel and repels the brass. But it is generally just 
the opposite. If you attempt to plunge through a 
hedge of burrs to get one blackberry, you will get 
more burrs than blackberries. You cannot afford to 
read a bad book, however good you are. You say, 
''The influence is insignificant." I tell you that the 
scratch of a pin has sometimes produced the lockjaw. 
Alas, if through curiosity, as many do, you pry into 
an evil book, your curiosity is as dangerous as that of 
the man who should take a torch into a gunpowder 
mill merely to see whether it really would blow up 
or not. 

Inferior books are to be rejected, in an age and 
time whem we are courted by whole libraries, and 
when no man's life is long enough to compass even 
those which are good and great and famous. Why 
should we bow down at puddles, when we can ap- 
proach freely to the crystal spring-heads of science 
and letters? Half the reading of most people is 







Y>^- 





snatched up at random. Many stupefy themselves 
over the dullness of authors who ought never to have 
escaped oblivion. The invention of paper and print- 
ing — especially the production of both by a new 
motive power — may be said to have overdone the 
f^yni^itteT, and made it too easy to be born into the , . 
y. world of authorship. The race would be benefited 
>x^ '^by sprne new invehlion for strangling nine out of ten 
who liit" for publicity. No man can do his friend or 
child a more real service than to snatch from his hand' 
the book that relaxes and effeminates him, lest he 
destroy the solids and make his fibre flaccid by the slops 
and hashes of a catch-penny press. But especially 
is he a benefactor who instills the principle that no 
V "^b composition should be deliberately sought which is 
"^Y^X not good, beneficial, and above mediocrity. ^ "^A-^ 

.^\^w:>'^- To those who plead the want of time to read, we 
would say, be as frugal of your hours as ydu are of 
your dollars, and you can create time in the busiest 
day. Horace Greeley, the editor of a newspaper 
which reached what was then an almost incredible 
circulation, tells us, that when a boy, he would "go 
reading, to the wood-pile ; reading, to the garden ; 
reading, to the neighbors." His father was poor, and 
needed his services through the day ; and it was a 
mighty struggle with him to get Horace to bed. '*I 
would take a pine knot," he says, "put it on the back- 
log, pile my books around me, and lie down and read 
all through the long winter evenings ; silent, motion- 
less, and dead to the world around me, alive only to 
the world to which I was transported by .ly book." 







\\W 




170 



READING. 



In this country talent has a fair field to rise by culture 
from the humblest walks of life, and to attain the 
highest distinction of which it is capable. "Why," 
inquired a bystander of a certain carpenter, who was 
bestowing great labor in planing and smoothing a 
seat for the bench in a court-room, ''why do you 
spend so much time on that seat?" ''I do it," was 
the reply, ''to make it easy for myself" And he kept 
his word- for, by industry, perseverance, and self- 
education, he rose, step by step, until he actually did 
afterwards sit as judge on that very bench he had 
planed as a carpenter. 

Consider that what we carry to a book is always 
quite as important as what we receive from it. We 
may strike the keys of the best instrument, from ear- 
liest morn till latest night, but unless there be music 
in our soul, it can produce no harmony for us. While, 
to an earnest, inquiring, self-poised mind, "a good 
book is the plectrum by which our else silent lyres 
are struck." Master your reading, and let it never 
master you. Then it will serve you with an ever- 
increasing fidelity. Only read books aright, and they 
will charge your mind with the true electric fire. Take 
them up as among your best friends ; and every 
volume you peruse will join the great company of 
joyous servitors who will wait around your immortal 
intellect. Then, too, your daily character will bear 
the signatures of the great minds you commune with 
in secret. And, as the years pass on, you will walk 
in the light of an ever-enlarging multitude of well- 
chosen, silent; but never-errino- cruides. 




To read with profit, the books must be of a kind 
calculated to inform the mind, correct the head, and 
better the heart. These books should be read with 
• attention, understood, remembered, and their pre- 
cepts put in practice. It depends less on number 
than quality. One good book, well understood and 
remembered, is of more use than to have a superficial 
iftgsriedge of fifty, equally sound. Books of the right 
P character produce reflection, and induce investigation. 
They are a mirror of mind, for mind to look in. Of 
all the books ever written, no one contains so instruct- 
ive, so sublime, and so great a variety as the Bible. 
Resolve to read three chapters each day, for one 
year, and you will find realities there, more won- 
derful than any pictures of fiction that have been 
drawn by the pencilings of the most practiced novel 

•iter in the dazzling galaxy of ancient or modern 
literature. -- ^ 

The advice in regard to reading only the best 
selected works leads us to say, read slowly. We 
sometimes rush over pages of valuable matter, because, 
at a glance, they seem to be dull ; and we leap along 
to see how the story, if it be a story, is to end. We 
do every thing in this age in a hurry ; we demand 
not only fast horses, but fast writers, fast preachers, 
and fast lecturers. Said a noted seaman's preacher 
in one of our large cities, ''I work in a hurry, I sleep 
in a hurry, and, if I ever die, I expect to die in a 
hurry.'* This is the history of much of the present 
reading. 

No one can too higlily appreciate the magic power 






READING. 



of the press, or too deeply deprecate its abuses. 
Newspapers have become the great highway of that 
intelHgence which exerts a controlHng power over our 
nation, catering the every-day food of the mind. 
Show us an intelligent family of boys and girls, and 
we will show you a family where newspapers and 
periodicals are plenty. Nobody who has been with- 
out these private tutors can know their educating 
power for good or evil. Have you ever thought of 
the innumerable topics of discussion which they sug- 
gest at the breakfast table ; the important public 
measures with which thus early our children become 
acquainted; the great philanthropic questions of the 
day, to which, unconsciously, their attention is awak- 
ened, and the general spirit of intelligence which is 
;ivoked by these quiet visitors ? Anything that makes 
home pleasant, cheerful and chatty, thins the haunts 
of vice and the thousand and one avenues of tempta- 
tion, should certainly be regarded, when we consider 
its influence on the minds of the young, as a great 
social and moral light. 

A child beginning to read becomes delighted with 
a newspaper, because he reads of names and things 
which are familiar, and he will progress accordingly, 
A newspaper, in one year is worth a quarter's school 
ing to a child. Every father must consider that infor 
mation is connected with advancement. The mothei 
of a family, being one of its heads, and having a more 
immediate charge of children, should herself be in- 
structed. A mind occupied becomes fortified against 
the ills of life, and is braced for emergency. Children 








READING. 





:^^; '■— 



amused by reading or study are of course more con- 
siderate and easily governed. 

How many thoughtless young men have spent 
their earnings in a tavern or grog shop who ought 
to have been reading ! How many parents who have 
, not spent twenty dollars for books for their families, 
• would have given thousands to reclaim a son or , 
,, daughter who t^^jgnorantly or thoughtlessly fallerf' 
into temptation ! 

Take away the press, and the vast educating power 
of the school and the college would soon come to an 
end. Or, look one moment at the immense influence 
a single writer has had upon an age, or upon the 
world — Shakspeare in creating the drama, or Bacon 
and Descartes in founding different systems of phi- 
losophy. Who may estimate the influence of Charles 

,^f",)^^ Dickens upon society, when by the magic of his perri ; 

^ ,,^C he touched the under world of poverty and ^anf ahd'^ 

sin, over which the rich and the gay glided on, not 
knowing or thinking what was beneath their feet, and 
marched all this ghastly array of ragged and hungry 
children and sorrowful women and discouraged men, 
and the famished forms from the poor-house, and the 
ugly visage of the criminal, into the parlors of wealth 
and culture, and there had them tell the story of 
their woes and their suffering? Or who can tell the 
influence of a MacDonald, or a Beecher, or an Eg- 
gleston in entering the wide realm of romance and 
compelling it to serve truth, humanity and religion? 
Or who knows the influence of Thomas Paine and 
Jefferson in strengthening the cause of liberty in our 






4 







,C5 




M >"• 








^^ 



i'p:rseverance. 




174 



struggle for national independence ? Take one single 
writer of our own land — Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. 
The single tale of ''Uncle Tom's Cabin," stirred the 
heart of this vast nation to its profoundest depths. 
At the simple moving of he: pen millioi s of swords 
and bayonets gleamed and flashed in the air, and 
vast armies met in deadly array and fought face to 
face, till liberty/, re-baptized in blood, was given :o 
man as man. This vast world moves along lines of 
thought and sentiment and prirci-jle, made eloquent 
by the clangor of the printing-p.ess 



" Continual dropping wears a stone." So perse- 
vering labor gains our objects. Perseverance is the 
virtue wanted, a lion-hearted purpose of victory. It 
is this that builds, constructs, accomplishes whatever 
is great, good, and valuable. 

Perseverance built the pyramids on Egypt's plains, 
erected the gorgeous temple at Jerusalem, reared the 
seven-hilled city, inclosed in adamant the Chinese 
empire, scaled the stormy, cloud-capped Alps, opened 
a highway througl^. the watery wilderness of the 
Atlantic, leveled the the forests of a new world, and 
reared in its stead a community of states and nations. 
It has wrought from the marble block the exquisite 
creations of genius, painted on the canvas the gor 



.. 1 




V'1'1 



vi 



i'i 



PERSEVERANCE. 



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fi^/U 



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^^eous mimicry of nature, and en^s^-raved on the metallic 
surface the viewless substance of the shadow. It has 
put In motion millions of spindles, winged as many 
flying shuttles, harnessed a thousand iron steeds to 
as many freighted cars, and set them flying from town 
to town and nation to nation, tunneled mountains of 
granite, and annihilated space with the lightning's 
^^g#d.,. It has whitened the waters of the world wath 
tne sails "of a hundred nations, navigated every sea 
and explored every land. It has reduced nature In 
her thousand forms to as many sciences, taught her 
laws, prophesied her future movements, measured 
her untrodden spaces, counted her myriad hosts of 
worlds, and computed their distances, dimensions, 
and velocities. 

But greater still are the works of perseverance in 
.e world of mind. What are the productiol^^^f 
^'science and art compared with the splendy ..achieve-- 
ments won in the human soul ? What is a monument 
of constructive, genius, compared with the living 
domes of thought, the sparkling temples of virtue, and 
the rich, glory-wreathed sanctuaries of religion, which 
perseverance has wrought out and reared in the souls 
of tne good ? VVhat are the toil-sweated produc- 
tions of wealth piled in vast profusion around a 
Girard, or a Rothschild, when weighed against the 
stores of wisdom, the treasures of knowledge, and 
the strength, beauty and glory with which this 
victorious virtue, has enriched and adorned a great 
multitude of minds during the march of a hundred 
generations ? How little can we tell, how little know, 



)?^i 







PERSEVERANCE. 



the brain-sweat, the heart-labor, the conscience-strug- 
gles which it cost to make a Newton, a Howard, or a 
Channing; how many days of toil, how many nights 
of weariness, how many months and years of vigilant, 
powerful effort, was spent to perfect in them what 
the world has bowed to in reverence ! Their words 
have a power, their names a charm, and their deeds 
a glory. How came this wealth of soul to be theirs ? 
Why are their names watchwords of power set high 
on the temple of fame? Why does childhood lisp 
them in reverence, and age feel a thrill of pleasure 
when they are mentioned? 

They were the sons of perseverance — of unremit- 
ting industry and toil. They were once as weak and 
helpless as any of us — once as destitute of wisdom, 
virtue and power as any infant. Once, the very 
alphabet of that language which they have wielded 
with such magic effect, was unknown to them. They 
toiled long to learn it, to get its sounds, understand 
its dependencies, and longer still to obtain the secret 
of its highest charm and mightiest power, and yet 
even longer for those living, glorious thoughts which 
they bade it bear to an astonished and admiring world. 
Their characters, which are now given to the world, 
and will be to millions yet unborn as patterns of great- 
ness and goodness, were made by that untiring per- 
severance which marked their whole lives. From 
childhood to age they knew no such word as fail. 
Defeat only gave them power ; difficulty only taught 
them the necessity of redoubled exertions ; dangers 
gave them courage ; the sight of great labors inspired 






THE ENGAGEMENT RING 

Love — that wMch blends young hearts in blissful unity, for the time, so ignores past ties 
and affections, as to make willing separation of the son from his father's house, and 
the daughter from all the sweet endearments of her childhood home, to go out 
together and rear for themselves an altar, around which shall cluster 
all the cares and delights, the anxieties and sympathies, of the 
family relationship; this love constitutes the chief useful- 
ness and happiness of human life. (Page 454.) 




WEDDED LOVE 

If there is a place on earth where pleasure and innocence live constantly together- 

wliere cares and labors are delightful — where every pain is forgotten in 

reciprocal tenderness — where there is an equal enjoyment of the 

past, the present and the future — it is the house of a wedded 

pair, who, in wedlock, are lovers still. (Page 470.) 




PERSEVERANCE. ^77 

in them corresponding- exertions. So it has been 
with all men and all women who have been eminently 
successful in any profession or calling in life. Their 
success has been wrought out by persevering indus- 
try. Successful men owe more to their perseverance 
than to their natural powers, their friends, or the 
favorable circumstances around them. Genius will 
falter by the side of labor, great powers will yield to 
great industry. Talent is desirable, but perseverance 
is more so. It will make mental powers, or, at least, 
it will strengthen those already made. Yes, it will 
make mental power. The most available and suc- 
cessful kind of mental power is that made by the hand 
of cultivation. 

It will also make friends. Who will not befriend 
the persevering, energetic youth, the fearless man of 
industry ? Who is not a friend to him who is a friend 
to himself? He who perseveres in business, and ^ )^k 
hardships, and discouragements, will always find 
ready and generous friends in every time of need. 
He who perseveres in a course of wisdom, rectitude, 
and benevolence, is sure to gather around him friends 
who will be true and faithful. Honest industry will 
procure friends in any community and any part of the 
civilized world. Go to the men of business, of worth, 
of influence, and ask them who shall have their con- 
fidence and support. They will tell you, the men who 
falter not by the wayside, who toil on in their callings 
against every barrier, whose eye is bent upward, and 
whose motto is ''Excelsior." These are the men to 
whom they give their confidence. But they shun the 



''^■T^- ""hSi-^ 



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Si* 



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PERSEVERANCE. 



lazy, the indolent, the fearful, and faltering-. They 
would as soon trust the wind as such men. If you 
would win friends, be steady and true to yourself; be 
the unfailing friend of your own purposes, stand by 
your own character, and others will come to your aid. 
Though the earth quake and the heavens gather 
blackness, be true to your course and yourself. 
Quail not, nor doubt of the result; victory will be 
yours. Friends will come. A thousand arms of 
strength will be bared to sustain you. 

First, be sure that your trade, your profession, your 
calling in life is a good one — one that God and good- 
ness sanctions ; then be true as steel to it Think for 
it, plan for it, work for it, live for it ; throw in your 
mind, might, strength, heart, and soul into your actions 
for it, and success will crown you her favored child. 
No matter whether your object be great or small, 
whether it be the planting of a nation or a patch of 
potatoes, the same perseverance is necessary. Every 
body admires an iron determination, and comes to the 
aid of him who directs it to good. 

But perseverance will not only make friends, but it 
will make favorable circumstances. It will change 
the face of all things around us; It is silly and cow- 
ardly to complain of the circumstances that are against 
us. Clouds of darkness, evil forebodings, opposition, 
enemies, barriers of every kind, will vanish before a 
stout heart and resolute energy of soul. The Alps 
stood between Napoleon and Italy, which he desired 
to conquer. He scaled the mountain and descended 
upon his prey. His startling descent more than haK 



ra 





^ 



TERS EVE RANGE. 



conquered the country. He forced every circum- 
stance Into his favor. His greatest barrier proved a 
sure means of victory. A conquered enemy Is often 
the readiest slave. So a barrier once scaled affords 
a vantage-ground for our future efforts. Opposing 
circumstances often create strength, both mental and 
physical. Labor makes us strong. Opposition gives 
us greater power of resistance. To overcome one 
barrier gives greater ability to overcome the next. It 
is cowardice to grumble about circumstances. Some 
men always talk as though fate had woven a web of 
circumstances against them, and it were useless for 
them to try to break through it. Out upon such 
dastardly whining ! It is their business to dash on in 
pursuit of their object against everything. Then 
circumstances will gradually turn in their favor, and 
they will deem themselves the favored childreri of 
destiny. 

Look at nature. She has a voice, which is the 
voice of God, teaching a thousand lessons of perse- 
verance. The lofty mountains are wearing down by 
slow degrees. The ocean is gradually, but slowly, 
filling up, by deposits from its thousand rivers. The 
Niagara Falls have worn back several miles through 
the hard limestone over which they pour their thun- 
dering columns of water, and will by-and-by drain the 
great lake which feeds their boiling chasm. The Red 
Sea and whole regions of the Pacific ocean are grad- 
ually filling up by the labors of a little insect, so 
small as to be almost invisible to the naked eye. 
These stupendous works are going on before our 






te 






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-^^j^^ 







i 

i 



180 



PERSEVERANCE. 



I 



eyes, by a slow but sure process.. They teach a 
great lesson of perseverance. Nature has but one 
voice on this subject, that is *' Persevere !" God has 
but one voice, that is ''Persevere!" and duty pro- 
claims the same lesson. More depends upon an 
active perseverance than upon genius. Says a com- 
mon-sense author upon this subject, ''Genius, unex- 
erted, is no more genius than a bushel of acorns is a 
forest of oaks." There may be epics in men's brains, 
just as there are oaks in acorns, but the tree must 
come out before we can measure it. We very nat- 
urally recall here that large class of grumblers and 
wishers, who spend their time in longing to be higher 
than they are, while it should have been employed to 
advance themselves. They bitterly moralize on the 
injustice of society. Do they want a change? Let 
them then change! Who prevents them? If you 
are as high as your faculties will permit you to rise 
in the scale of society, why should you complain 
of men? 

It is God who arranged the law of precedence. 
Implead Him or be silent ! If you have capacity for 
a higher station, take it. What hinders you ? How 
many men would love to go to sleep beggars and 
wake up Rothschilds or Astors ? How many would 
fain go to bed dunces, to be waked up Solomons? 
You reap what you have sown. Those who have 
sown dunce-seed, vice-seed, laziness-seed, usually 
get a crop. They who sow the wind reap a whirl- 
wind. A man of mere "capacity undeveloped" is 
only an organized degradation with a shine on it. 



PERSEVERANCE. 



181 




/ 



>4 V 



Vt-. P : 



A flint and a genius that will not strike fire are no 
better than wet junk-wood. We have Scripture for 
it, that ''a living dog is better than a dead lion!" If 
you would go up, go — if you would be seen, shine. 
At the present day eminent position, in any profes- 
ion, is the result of hard, unwearied labor. Men 
can no longer fly at one dash into eminent position. 
They have got to hammer it out by steady and 
rugged blows. The world is no longer clay, but 
rather iron, in the hands of its workers. 

Work is the order of this day. The slow penny is 
surer than the quick dollar. The slow trotter will 
out-travel the fleet racer. Genius darts, flutters, 
and tires ; but perseverance wears and wins. The 
all-day horse wins the race. The afternoon-man 
wears off the laurels. The last blow finishes the nail 

Men must learn to labor and to wait, if they would 
succeed. Brains grow by use as well as hands. The 
greatest man is the one who uses his brains the most, 
who has added most to his natural stock of power. 
Would you have fleeter feet? Try them in the race. 
Would you have stronger minds ? Put them at ra- 
tional thinking. They will grow strong by action. 
Would you have greater success? Use greater and 
more rational and constant efforts? Does competi- 
tion trouble you ? Work away ; what is your compet- 
itor but a man ? Are you a coward, that you shrink 
from the contest? Then you ought to be beaten. 
Is the end of your labors a long way off? Every step 
takes you nearer to It. Is it a weary distance to look 
at ? Ah, you are faint-hearted ! That is the trouble 






f 










PLUCK. 



with the multitude of youth. Youth are not so lazy 
as they are cowardly. They may bluster at first, but 
they won't ''stick it out." Young- farmer, do you 
covet a homestead, nice and comfortable, for yourself 
and that sweet one of your day-dreams? What 
hinders that you should not have it? Persevering 
industry with proper economy, will give you the farm. 
A man can get what he wants if he be not faint-heart- 
ed. Toil is the price of success. Learn it, young 
farmer, mechanic, student, minister, physician. Chris- 
tian. Learn it, ye formers of character, ye followers 
of Christ, ye would-be men and women. Ye must 
have something to do, and do it with all your might. 
Ye must harden your hands and sweat your brains. 
Ye must work your nerves and strain your sinews. 
Ye must be at it, and always at it. No trembling, 
doubting, hesitating, flying the track. Like the boy 
on the rock, ye cannot go back. Qnward ye must 
go. There is a great work for ye all to do, a deep 
and earnest life-work, solemn, real and useful. Life 
is no idle game, no farce to amuse and be forgotten. 
It is a fixed and stern reality, fuller of duties than the 
sky is of stars. 

There is seldom a line of glory written upon the 
t.arth's face but a line of suffering runs parallel with 
it ; and they who read the lustrous syllables of the 






ft/, 



i 



11' 



J^t- 



PLUCK 



183 



one, and stop not to decipher the spotted and worn 
inscription of the other, get the lesser half of the 
lesson earth has to give. 

The hopelessness of any one's accomplishing any- 
thing without pluck is illustrated by an old East Indian 
fable. A mouse that dwelt near the abode of a great 
magician was kept in such constant distress by its fear 
a cat, that the magician, taking pity on it, turned 
'it Into a: cat itself. Immediately it began to suffer 
from its fear of a dog, so the magician turned it into 
a dog. Then it began to suffer from fear of a tiger, 
and the magician turned it into a tiger. Then it began 
to suffer from its fear of huntsmen, and the magician, 
in disgust, said, "Be a mouse again. As you have 
only the heart of a mouse, it is impossible to help 
you by giving you the body of a nobler animal." 
^And the poor creature again became a mouse. 

It is the same with a mouse-hearted man. ,, He may 
be clothed with the powers, and placed in the position 
of a brave man, but he will always act like a mouse ; 
and public opinion is usually the great magician that 
finally says to such a person, ''Go back to your 
obscurity again. You have only the heart of a mouse, 
and it is useless to try to make a lion of you." 

Many depend on luck instead of pluck. The P left 
off that word makes all the difference. The English 
say luck is all; ''it is better to be born lucky than 
wise." The Spanish, "The worst pig gets the best 
acorn." The French, "A good bone never falls to a 
good dog." The German, "Pitch the lucky man into 
the Nile, and he will come up with a fish in his mouth." 





xV 




184 



SELF-RELIANCE. 



n 



Fortune, success, fame, position are never gained^ 
but by piously, determinedly, bravely sticking, living 
to a thing till it is fairly accomplished. In short, you 
must carry a thing through if you want to be anybody 
or anything. No matter if it do cost you the pleasure, 
the society, the thousand pearly gratifications of life. 
No matter for these. Stick to the thing and carry it 
through. Believe you were made for the matter, and 
that no one else can do it. Put forth your whole 
energies. Be awake, electrify yourself; go forth to 
the task. Only once learn to carry a thing through 
in all its completeness and proportion, and you will 
become a hero. You will think better of yourself; 
others will think better of you. The world in its very 
heart admires the stern, determined doer. It sees in 
him Its best sight, its brightest object, its richest 
treasure. Drive right along, then, in whatever you 
undertake. Consider yourself amply sufficient for 
the deed, and you will succeed. 



^.^,^,.|., 



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tlthmtlmntt^ 




God never intended that strong, independent beings 
should be reared by clinging to others, like the ivy to 
the oak, for support. The difficulties, hardships, and 
trials of life— the obstacles one encounters on the 
road to fortune — are positive blessings. They knit 
his muscles more iirmly, and teach him self-reliance, 




SELF-RELIANCE. 



185 



fll 



a\ 



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just as by wrestling with an athlete, who is superior 
to us, we increase our own strength, and learn the 
secret of his skill. All difficulties come to us, as 
Bunyan says of temptation, like the lion which met 
Samson ; the first time we encounter them they roar 
and gnash their teeth, but, once subdued, we find a 
nest of honey in them. Peril is the very element in 
"^which power is developed. ''Ability and necessity 
dwell near each other," said Pythagoras. 

The greatest curse that can befall a young man is 
to lean, while his character is forming, on others for 
support. He who begins with crutches will generally 
end with crutches. Help from within always strength- 
ens, but help from without invariably enfeebles its 
recipient. It is not in the sheltered garden or the 
hot-house, but on the rugged Alpine cliffs, where the 
storms beat most violently, that the toughest plants i^Sf^' 
are reared. The oak that stands alone to contend \^^^ 
with the tempest's blasts, only takes deeper root and ^'^ 

stands the firmer for ensuing conflicts ; while the 
forest tree, when the woodman's ax has spoiled Its 
surroundings, sways and bends and trembles, and 
perchance is uprooted. So it is with men. Those 
who are trained to self-reliance are ready to go out 
and contend in the sternest conflicts of life ; while 
men who have always leaned for support on those 
around them, are never prepared to breast the storms 
of adversity that arise. 

Many a young man — and for that matter, many a 
one who is older — halts at his outset upon life's 
battle-field, and falters and faints for what he con- 




("rS 






->.-.. 





186 



SELF-RELIANCE. 



ceives to be a necessary capital for a start. A few 
thousand dollars, or hundreds, or ''something- hand- 
some " in the way of money in his purse,- he fancies 
to be about the only thing- needful to secure his 
fortune. 

The best capital, in nine cases out of ten, a young 
man can start in the world with, is robust health 
sound morals, a fair intelligence, a will to work his 
way honestly and bravely, and if it be possible, a 
trade — whether he follows it for a livelihood or not. 
He can always fall back upon a trade when other 
paths are closed. Any one who will study the lives 
of memorable men — apart from the titled, or heredi- 
tarily great — will find that a large majority of them 
rose from the ranks, with no capital for a start, save 
intelligence, energy, industry, and a will to rise and 
conquer. In the mechanic and artizan pursuits, in 
commerce, in agriculture, and in the paths of litera- 
ture, science and art, many of the greatest names 
have sprung from poverty and obscurity. Dr. John- 
son made himself illustrious by his intellect and indus- 
try — so did Franklin, and so have multitudes whose 
memories are renowned. 

The greatest heroes of the battle-field — as Napo- 
leon, Hannibal, Cromwell — some of the o-reatest 
statesmen and orators, ancient and modern — as 
Demosthenes, Chatham, Burke, and our own Webster 
and Clay — could boast no patrician advantages, no 
capital in gold, to start with. The grandest fortunes 
ever accumulated or possessed on earth were and are, 
the fruit of endeavor that had no capital to begin 




y\ 



SELF-RELIANCE. 



187 





^ 



with save energy, intellect, and the will. From 
Croesus down to Astor, the story is the same — not 
only in the getting of wealth, but also in the acquire- 
ment of various eminence — those men have won 
most, who relied most upon themselves. 

The path of success in business is invariably the 
path of common sense. Notwithstanding all that is 
said about ''lucky hits," the best kind of success in 
every man's life is not that which comes by accident. 
The only ''good time coming" we are justified in 
hoping for, is that which we are capable of making 
for ourselves. The fable of the labors of Hercules 
is indeed the type of all human doing and success. 
Every youth should be made to feel that if he would 
get through the world usefully and happily, he must 
rely mainly upon himself and his own independent 
j^ergies. Making a small provision for young men 
is hardly justifiable ; and it is of all things the mosr" 
prejudicial to themselves. They think what they 
have that which is much larger than it really is ; and 
they make no exertion. The young should never 
hear any language but this: "You have your own 
way to make, and it depends upon your own exertions 
whether you starve or not." Outside help is your 
greatest curse. It handcuffs effort, stifles aspiration, 
shuts the prison door upon emulation, turns the key 
on energy. 

The wisest charity is to help a man to help himself. 
To put a man in the way of supporting himself gives 
him a new lease of life, makes him feel young again, 
for it is very many times all the sick man needs to 
restore him to perfect health 





r 






People who have been bolstered up and levered all 
their lives, are seldom good for anything in a crisis. 
When misfortune comes, they look around for some- 
body to cling to, or lean upon. If the prop is not 
there, down they go. Once down, they are as help- 
less as capsized turtles, or unhorsed men in armor, 
and they can not find their feet again without 
assistance. 

There are multitudes of such men. They are like 
summer vines, which never grow even ligneous, but 
stretch out a thousand little hands to grasp the 
Stronger shrubs ; and if they can not reach them, they 
lie disheveled in the grass, hoof-trodden, and beaten 
of every storm. It will be found that the first real 
movement upward will not take place until, in a spirit 
of resolute self-denial, indolence, so natural to almost 
every one, is mastered. Necessity is, usually, the 
spur that sets the sluggish energies in motion. 
Poverty, therefore, is oftener a blessing to a young 
man than prosperity ; for, while the one tends to 
stimulate his powers, the other inclines them to languor 
and disuse. But, is it not very discreditable for the 
young man, who is favored with education, friends, 
and all the outside advantages which could be desired 
as means to worldly success, to let those who stand, 
in these respects, at the beginning, far below him, 
gradually approach as the steady years move on, 
and finally outstrip him in the race ? It is not only 
discreditable, but disgraceful. A man's true position 
in society is that which he achieves for himself — he 
is worth to the world no more, no less. As he 



rr 



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LABOR. 189 

builds for society in useful work, so he builds for 
himself. He is a man for what he does, not for what 
his father or his friends have done. If they have 
done well, and given him a position, the deeper the 
shame, if he sink down to a meaner level through 
self-indulgence and indolence. 

If the boy be not trained to endure and to bear 
trouble, he will grow up a girl ; and a boy that is a 
girl has all a girl's weakness without any of her 
regal qualities. A woman made out of a woman is 
God's noblest work ; a woman made out of a man is 
his meanest. A child rightly brought up will be like 
a willow branch, which, broken off and touching the 
ground, at once takes root. Bring up your children 
so that they will root easily in their own soil, and not 
forever be grafted into your old trunk and boughs. 



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There is dignity in toil — in toil of the hand as 
well as toil of the head — in toil to provide for the 
bodily wants of an individual life, as well as in toil to 
promote some enterprise of world-wide fame. All 
labor that tends to supply man's wants, to increase 
man's happiness, to elevate man's nature — in a word, ^.|^| 

all labor that is honest — is honorable too. Labor 
clears the forest, and drains the morass, and makes 
"the wilderness rejoice and blossom as the rose." 










LABOR. 

drives the plow, and scatters the seeds, and 
reaps the harvest, and grinds the corn, and converts 
it into bread, the staff of hfe. Labor, tending the 
pastures and sweeping the waters as well as cultivat- 
ing the soil, provides with daily sustenance the thous- 
and millions of the family of man. Labor gathers the 
gossamer web of the caterpillar, the cotton from the 
field, and the fleece from the flock, and weaves it into 
raiment soft and warm and beautiful, the purple robe 
of the prince and the gray gown of the peasant being 
alike its handiwork. Labor molds the brick, and 
splits the slate, and quarries the stone, and shapes 
the column, and rears not only the humble cottage, 
but the gorgeous palace, and the tapering spire, and 
the stately dome. Labor, diving deep into the solid 
earth, brings up its long-hidden stores of coal to 
feed ten thousand furnaces, and in millions of homes 
to defy the winter's cold. 

Labor explores the rich veins of deeply-buried 
rocks, extracting the gold and silver, the copper and 
tin. Labor smelts the iron, and molds it into a 
thousand shapes for use and ornament, from the mas- 
sive pillar to the tiniest needle, from the ponderous 
anchor to the wire gauze, from the mighty fly-wheel 
of the steam-engine to the polished purse-ring or the 
glittering bead. Labor hews down the gnarled oak, 
and shapes the timber, and builds the ship, and 
guides it over the deep, plunging through the billows, 
and wrestling with the tempest, to bear to our shores 
the produce of every clime. Labor, laughing at diffi- 
culties, spans majestic rivers, carries viaducts over 




^S^^ 





marshy swamps, suspends bridges over deep ravines, 
pierces the soHd mountain with the dark tunnel, blast- 
ing- rocks and filling hollows, and while linking 
together with its iron but loving grasp all nations of 
the earth, verifies, in a literal sense, the ancient pro- 
phecy, ''Every valley shall be exalted, and every 
mountain and hill shall be brought low." Labor draws 
forth its delicate iron thread, and stretching it from 
city to city, from province to province, through moun- 
tains and beneath the sea, realizes more than fancy 
ever fabled, while it constructs a chariot on which 
speech may outstrip the wind, and compete with 
lightning, for the telegraph flies as rapidly as thought 
itself. 

Labor, the mighty magician, walks forth into a 
I;; region uninhabited and waste ; he looks earnestly at 

_the scene, so quiet in its desolation, then wavii^g his.^ 
^% ^^ydk#wonder-working wand, those dreary valleys smile 
with golden harvests ; those barren mountain-slopes 
are clothed with foliage ; the furnace blazes ; the 
anvil rings ; the busy wheel whirls round ; the town 
appears ; the mart of commerce, the hall of science, 
the temple of religion, rear high their lofty fronts ; a 
forest of masts, gay with varied pennons, rises from 
the harbor ; representatives of far-off regions make 
it their resort ; science enlists the elements of earth 
and heaven in its service ; art, awakening, clothes its 
strength with beauty ; civilization smiles ; liberty is 
glad ; humanity rejoices ; piety exults, for the voice 
of industry and gladness is heard on every side. 
Working men walk worthy of your vocation ! You 



'^) 



4 







192 LABOR. 

have one able scutcheon ; disgrace it not. There is 
nothing really mean and low but sin. Stoop not 
from your lofty throne to defile yourselves by con- 
tamination with intemperance, licentiousness, or any 
form of evil. Labor, allied with virtue, may look up 
to heaven and not blush, while all worldly dignities, 
prostituted to vice, will leave their owner vv^ithout a 
corner of the universe in which to hide his shame. 
You will most successfully prove the honor of toil by 
illustrating in your own persons its alliance with a 
sober, righteous and godly life. Be ye sure of this, 
that the man of toil who works in a spirit of obedient, 
^ loving homage to God, does no less than cherubim 

'I and seraphim in their loftiest flights and holiest songs. 

■ Labor achieves grander victories, it weaves more 

durable trophies, it holds wider sway, than the con- 
queror. His name becomes tainted and his monu- 
ments crumble ; but labor converts his red battle-fields 
into gardens, and erects monuments significant of 
better things. Labor rides in a chariot driven by the 
wind. It writes with the lightning. It sits crowned 
as a king in a thousand cities, and sends up its roar 
of triumph from a million wheels. It glistens in the 
fabric of the loom, it rings and sparkles from the 
steely hammer, it glories in shapes of beauty, it 
speaks in words of power, it makes the sinewy arm 
strong with liberty, the poor man's heart rich with 
content, crowns the swarthy and sweaty brow with 
honor, and dignity, and peace. 

Don't live in hope with your arms folded ; fortune 
smiles on those who roll up their sleeves, and put 











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LABOR. 




m. 



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their shoulders to the wheel. You cannot dream 
yourself into a character ; you must hammer and forge 
yourself one. To love and to labor is the sum of 
living, and yet how many think they live who neither 
love nor labor. 

■:- -The man and woman who are above labor, and 
\4^spise the laborer, show a want of common sense,:( 
and -forget that ey^y article that is used is the productv 
of more-'br le^s labor, and that the air they breathe, and 
the cfrculation of the blood in the veins, is the result 
of the labor of the God of nature. The time was 
when kings and queens stimulated their subjects to 
labor by example. Queen Mary had her regular 
hours of work, and had one of her maids of honor 
read to her while she plied the needle. Sir Walter 
Raleigh relates a cutting reply made to him by the 
wife of a noble duke, at whose house he lodged over 
night. In the morning he heard her'give directions 
to a servant relative to feeding the pigs. On going 
into the breakfast room he jocosely asked her if the 
pigs had all breakfasted. "All, sir, but the strange 
pig I am about to feed," was the witty reply. Sir 
Walter was mute, and walked up to the trough. 

The noblest thing in the world is honest labor. It 
is the very preservative principle of the universe. 
Wise labor brings order out of chaos ; it turns deadly 
bogs and swamps into grain-bearing fields ; it rears 
cities; it adorns the earth with architectural monu- 
ments, and beautifies them with divinest works of art ; 
it whitens the seas with the wjngs of commerce ; it 
brings remote lands into mutual and profitable neigh- 





borhood ; it binds continents together with the fast- 
holdino- bands of railroads and telegraphs ; it extin- 
guishes barbarism and plants civilization upon its 
ruins ; it produces mighty works of genius in prose 
and verse, which gladden the hearts of men forever. 
Work, therefore, with pride and gladness, for thereby 
you will be united by a common bond with all the 
best and noblest who have lived, who are now living, 
and who shall ever be born. 

Washington and his lady were examples of industry, 
plainness, frugality and economy — and thousands of 
others of the wealthy, labored in the field and kitchen, 
in older times, before folly superseded wisdom, and 
fashion drove common sense and economy off the 
track. 

No man has the right to expect a good fortune, 
unless he go to work and deserve it. ''Luck!" cried 
a self-made man, ''I never had any luck but by getting 
up at five every morning and working'as hard as I 
could." No faithful workman finds his task a pas- 
time. We must all toil or steal — no matter how 
we name our stealing. A brother of the distinguished 
Edmund Burke was found in a revery after listening 
to one of his most eloquent speeches in Parliament, 
and being asked the cause, replied, ''I have been 
wondering how Ned has contrived to monopolize all 
the talents of the family ; but then I remember, when 
we were at play he was always at work." 

The education, moral and intellectual, of every 
individual must be chiefly /lis ozvn zvork. How else 
could it happen that ^oung men, who have had pre- 




i 



J 




4^1 



LA150R. 



195 



cisely the same opportunities, should be continually 
presenting" us with such different results, and rushing 
to such opposite destinies? Difference of talent will 
not solve it, because that difference is very often in 
favor of the disappointed candidate. 

You will see issuing from the walls of the same 
college — nay, sometimes from the bosom of the same 
family — two young men, of whom the one shall be 
admitted to be a genius of high order, the other 
scarcely above the point of mediocrity ; yet you shall 
see the genius sinking and perishing in poverty, 
obscurity and wretchedness, while, on the other hand, 
you shall observe the mediocre plodding his slow but 
sure way up the hill of life, gaining steadfast footing 
at every step, and mounting, at length, to eminence 
and distinction — an ornament to his family, a blessing 

his country. 

Now, whose work is this? Manifestly 
Men are the architects of their respective fortunes. 
It is the fiat of fate from which no power of genius 
can absolve you. Genius, unexerted, is like the poor 
moth that flutters around a candle till it scorches itself 
to death. 

It is this capacity for high and long continued exer- 
tion, this vigorous power of profound and searching 
investigation, this careening and wide-spreading com- 
prehension of mind, and those long reaches of thought, 
that 

" Pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon, 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep, 
Where fathom line could never touch the ground, 
And drag up drowned honor by the looks." 






What we have seen of men and of the world con- 
vinces us that one of the first conditions of enjoying- 
life is to have somcihiiig to do, something great enough 
to rouse the mind and noble enough to satisfy the 
heart, and then to give our mind and heart, our 
thought and toil and affections to it, to labor for it, in 
the fine words of Robert Hall, ''with an ardor bor- 
dering on enthusiasm," or, as a yet greater sage 
expresses it, to ''do it with all our mights 

A life of full and constant employment is the only 
safe and happy one. If we suffer the mind and body 
to be unemployed, our enjoyments, as well as our 
labors, will be terminated. One of the minor uses 
of steady employment is, that it keeps one out of 
mischief; for truly an idle brain is the devil's work- 
shop, and a lazy man the devil's bolster. To be 
occupied is to be possessed as by a tenant, whereas 
to be idle is to be empty ; and when the doors of the 
imagination are opened, temptation finds a ready 
access, and evil thoughts come trooping in. It is 
observed at sea that men are never so much disposed 
to grumble and mutiny as when least employed. 
Hence an old captain, when there was nothing else 
to do, would issue the order to "scour the anchor." 

Labor, honest labor, is mighty and beautiful. 
Activity is the ruling element of life, and its highest 
relish. Luxuries and conquests are the result of 
labor ; we can imagine nothing without it. The 
noblest man of earth is he who puts his hands cheer- 
fully and proudly to honest labor. Labor is a business 
and ordinance of God. Suspend labor, and where 



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^^iW 



ENERGY. 



are the glory and pomp of earth — the fruit, fields, 
and palaces, and the fashioning- of matter for which 
men strive and war? Let the labor-scorner look to 
himself and learn what are the trophies. From the 
cro\\m of his head to the sole of his foot, he is the 
>r and slave of toil. The labor which he scorns 
. has tricked hiiXL'-ipto the stature and appearance vo^af^ 
jTfhaiit:'^'^'Where ^ets he garmenting and equipage? 
Let %bor answer. Labor — which makes music in 
the mines and the furrow and the forge — oh, scorn 
not labor, you man who never yet earned a morsel of 
bread ! Labor pities you, proud fool, and laughs you 
to scorn. You shall pass to dust, forgotten ; but labor 
will live on forever, glorious in its conquests and 
monuments. 






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The longer we live the more we are certain the 
great difference between men — between the feeble 
and the powerful, the great and the insignificant, is 
energy; invincible detenninatio^i — a purpose, once 
fixed, and then death or victory ! That quality will 
do anything that can be done in this world ; and no 
talents, no circumstances, no opportunities, will make 
a two-legged creature a man without it. 

Never suffer your energies to stagnate. There is 
no genius of life like the genius of energy and 
industry. All the traditions current among very 






198 




ENERGY. 



youn^ men that certain great characters have wrought 
their greatness by an inspiration, as it were, grows 
out of a sad mistake. There are no rivals so formid- 
able as those earnest, determined minds, which reckon 
the value of every hour, and which achieve eminence 
by persistent application. 

The difference between one boy and another con- 
sists not so much in talent as in energy. Provided 
the dunce have persistency and application, he will 
inevitably head the cleverer fellow without these qual- 
ities. Slow but sure wins the race. It is persever- 
ance that explains how the position of boys at school 
is often reversed in real life ; and it is curious to note 
how some who were then so clever have since become 
so common-place, whilst others, dull boys, of whom 
nothing was expected, slow in their faculties, but sure 
in their pace, have assumed the position of leaders of 
men. We recollect that when a boy we stood in the 
same class with one of the greatest of dunces. One 
teacher after another had tried his skill upon him and 
failed. Corporeal punishment, the fool's-cap, coax- 
ing, and earnest entreaty, proved alike fruitless. 
Sometimes the experiment was tried of putting him 
at the top of his class, and it was curious to note the 
rapidity with which he gravitated to the inevitable bot- 
tom, like a lump of lead passing through quicksilver. 
The youth was given up by many teachers as an incor- 
rigible dunce — one of them pronouncing him to be 
''a stupendous booby." Yet, slow though he was, 
this dunce had a dull energy and a sort of beefy 
tenacity of purpose, which grew with his muscles and 




199 



his manhood ; and, strang-e to say, when he at length 
came to take part in the practical business of life, he 
was found heading- most of his school companions, 
and eventually left the greater number of them far 
behind. The tortoise in the right road will beat a 
racer in the wrong-. It matters not though a youth 
be slow, if he be but diligent. Quickness of parts 
ivC^Y even prove a defect, inasmuch as the boy who 
iearns readily will often forget quite as readily ; and 
also because he finds no need of cultivating that 
quality of application and perseverance which the 
slower youth is compelled to exercise, and which 
proves so valuable an element in the formation of 
every character. The highest culture is not obtained 
from teachers when at school or college, so much as 
by our own diligent self-education when we have 
become men. Parents need not be in too great, hai§|e 
to see their children's talents forced into bloam^-J^B 
them watch and wait patiently, letting good example 
and quiet training do their work, and leave the rest 
to Providence. Let them see to it that the youth is 
provided, by free exercise of his bodily powers, with 
a full stock of physical health ; set him fairly on the 
road of self-culture ; carefully train his habits of 
application and perseverance ; and as he grows older, 
If the right stuff be in him, he will be enabled vigor- 
ously and effectively to cultivate himself. 

He who has heart has everything ; and who does not 
burn does not Inflame. It Is astonishing how much 
may be accomplished In self-culture by the energetic 
and the persevering, who are careful to avail them- 







selves of opportunities, and use up the fragments ol 
spare time which the idle permit to run to waste. In 
study as in business, energy is the great thing. We 
must not only strike the iron while it is hot, but strike 
it until it is made hot. 

Give us not men like weathercocks, that change 
with every wind, but men like mountains, who change 
the winds themselves. There is always room for a man 
of force and he makes room for many. You cannot 
dream yourself into a character ; you must hammer 
and forge yourself one. Therefore don't live in hope 
with your arms folded ; fortune smiles on those who 
roll up their sleeves and put their shoulders to the 
wheel. '' I can't ! it is impossible ! " said a foiled 
lieutenant to Alexander. ''Begone!" shouted the 
conquering Macedonian in reply — ** there is nothing 
impossible to him who will try;" and to make good 
his words, the haughty warrior, not yet come to weep 
that there were no more worlds to subdue, charged 
with a phalanx the rock-crested fortress that had 
defied his timid subaltern, and the foe were swept 
down as with the besom of destruction. 

A man's character is seen in small matters; and 
from even so sHght a test as the mode in which a man 
wields a hammer, his energy may in some measure 
be inferred. Thus an eminent Frenchman hit off in 
a single phrase the characteristic qu?dity of the inhab- 
itants of a particular district, in which a friend of his 
proposed to buy land and settle. "Beware,'' said he, 
of making a purchase there; I know the men of 
that department ; the pupils who come from it to our 




iJ^^.IL. 






veterinary school at Paris, do not strike hard upon 
the anvil; they want energy ; and you will not get a 
satisfactory return on any capital you may invest 
there;" — a fine and just appreciation of character, 
indicating the accurate and thoughtful observer ; and 
,.; jtrfeingly illustrative of the fact that it is the energy 
>/.^o^ the /individual man that gives strength to a state( 
' ^^ and cotifers aV^§fo^<jav upon the very soil which he,C 
■ cultjyates. 

It*Ts a Spanish maxim, that he who loseth wealth, 
loseth much ; he who loseth a friend, loseth more ; 
but he who loseth his energies, loseth all. 




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llli 



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Young man, your success or your failure, your 
weal or woe of life will hang largely in the manner in 
which you treat these two words. 

Rev. G. S. Weaver says: ''The word luck is sug- 
gestive of a want of law." This Idea has passed 
into many common proverbs, such as these: ''It is 
more by hit than good wit;" "It is as well to be born 
lucky as rich;" "Fortune is a fickle jade;" "Risk 
nothing, win nothing;" and more of a similar import; 
all ignoring the grand rule of law and resting upon 
the atheistical idea of chance. 

Our fathers were good, religious people, and did 
not mean to foster atheism when they talked about 




^'1i 



s>; 



¥ 





luck, and gave a half-way assent to its Godless real- 
ity. If the universe were an infinite chaos ; if order 
had no throne in its wide realm ; if universal law 
were a fable of fancy; if God were a Babel, or the 
world a Pandemonium, there might be such a thing 
as luck. But while from the particle to the globe, 
from the animalcule to the archangel, there is not a 
being or a thing, a time or an event, disconnected 
with the great government of eternal law and order, 
we cannot see how such a game of chance as the 
word luck supposes can be admitted into any corner 
of the great world. Luck ! What is it ? A lottery ? 
A hap-hazard ? A frolic of gnomes ? A blind-man's- 
bluff among the laws? A ruse among the elements? 
A trick of dame nature? Has any scholar defined 
luck, any philosopher explained its nature, any chem- 
ist shone us its elements ? Is luck that strange, non- 
descript unmateriality that does all things among men 
that they cannot account for? If so, why does not 
luck make a fool speak words of wisdom? an igno- 
ramus utter lectures on philosophy; a stupid dolt 
write the great works of music and poetry ; a double- 
fingered dummy create the beauties of art, or an 
untutored savage the wonders of mechanism? 

If we should go into a country where the slug- 
gard's farm was covered with the richest grains and 
fruits, and where industry was rewarded only with 
weeds and brambles ; where the drunkard looked 
sleek and beautiful, and his home cheerful and happy, 
while temperance wore the haggard face and ate 
the bread of want and misery ; where labor starved. 




JO^ 



jtm 



while idleness was fed and grew fat ; where common 
sense was put upon the pillory, while twaddle and 
moonshine were raised to distinction ; where g-enius 
lay in the gutter and ignorance soared to the skies ; 
where virtue was incarcerated in prison, while vice 
was courted and wooed by the sunlight, we might 
possibly be led to believe that luck had something to 
^o there. But where we see, as we everywhere do 
in our world, the rewards of industry, energy, wis* 
dom and virtue constant as the warmth in sunlight or 
beauty in flowers, we must deny Z7i toto the very 
existence of this good and evil essence which men 
have called hick. 

Was it luck that gave Girard and Astor, Rothschild 
and Gray their vast wealth ? Was it luck that won 

victories for Washington, Wellington, and Napoleon 1 

_ /J, 

^'as it luck that carved Venus de' Medici, that.wra 
'the ''^neid," ''Paradise Lost," and "Festjjsf''^ 
it luck that gave Morse his telegraph, or Fulton his 
steamboat, or Franklin the lightning for his plaything? 
Is it luck that gives the merchant his business, the 
lawyer his clients, the minister his hearers, the phy- 
sician his patients, the mechanic his labor, the farmer 
his harvest ? Nay, verily. No man believes it. And 
yet many are the men who dream of luck, as though 
such a mysterious spirit existed, and did sometimes 
humor the whims of visionary cowards and drones. 

Many are the young men who waste the best part 
of their lives in attempts to woo this coy maid into 
their embraces. They enter into this, or that, or the 
other speculation, with the dreamy hope that luck will 







pay them a smiling- visit. Some go to California, or 
Australia, or the ''Far West," or to the torrid or the 
frigid zone, or some wondrous away-off place, with 
no fair prospect or hope of success from their own 
energies and exertions, but depending almost wholly 
on a gentle smile from capricious luck. Poor fellows ! 
they find that luck does not get so far from home. 

Some, less daring and more lazy, loiter about home, 
drawl around town, or loll through the country. Their 
only trust or expectation is in a shuffle of luck in theii 
favor. They know they deserve nothing, yet, with 
an impudence hard as brass, they will pray to luck for 
a ''windfall," or a "fat office, or a "living," and fool- 
ishly wait for an answer. These are the men who 
make your gamblers, your horse-thieves, your coun- 
terfeiters, your gentleman-loafers. They are not men 
who originally meant any harm. But they believe in 
luck, and their trust is in luck, and they are going to 
have It out of luck some way. They despised mean- 
ness at first, perhaps, as much as you and we do ; but 
somebody told them of luck, and they believed, and 
lo ! they got duped. Little by little they went over 
to meanness, waiting all the while for a shake of the 
hand from luck. 

Some of the believers in luck of more moral firm- 
ness, dally with all life's great duties, and so do about 
the same as nothing, and eat the bread of disappoint- 
ment. They do alittle at this business, and luck does 
not smile. They do a little at that, and still luck 
keeps away. They do a little at something else, they 
foot-fall from luck. And so they fritter 







l)Steitw 










away time and life. These are the do-llttles, Hard- 
ivorklng- men they are frequently. It is with them as 
thoug-h they had started to go to a place a thousand 
miles distant, leading* to which there were many roads. 
They set out at full speed on one road, go a few miles, 
and get tired, and so conclude to turn back and try 
another. And so they try one road after another,, 
each 4:ime jreturnijQLg to the starting-place. In a little' 
while itvis too late to get there at the appointed time, 
and 9^ they mope along any road they happen to be 
on till the day is over. 

They cra\ e a good they do not earn ; they pray to 
luck to give what does not belong to them ; their 
whole inward life is a constant craving wish for some- 
thing to which they have no just claim. It is a morbid, 
feverish covetousness, which is very apt to end in the 
conclusion, "The world owes me a living, and a living 
I'll have," and so they go out to get, a Hving as best 
they may. They fancy that every rich and honored 
man has got his good by some turn of luck, and 
hence they feel that he has no special right to his 
property or his honors, and so they will get either 
from him if they can. They look upon the world, 
not as a great hive of industry, where men are 
rewarded according to their labors and merits, but as 
a grand lottery, a magnificent scheme of chance, in 
which fools and idlers have as fair a show as talent 
and labor. 

In our humble opinion, this philosophy of luck is 
at the bottom of more dishonesty, wiekedness, and 
moral corruption than anything else. It sows its 








LUCK AND PLUCK. 

seeds in youthful ;uinds just at that visionary seasor. 
when judgment has not been ripened by experience 
nor imagination corrected by wisdom. And it takes 
more minds from the great school -house of useful 
life, and more arms from the great workshop of human 
Industry, than any other one thing to which our mind 
reverts. It is a moral palsy, against which every just 
man should arm himself. The cure of the evil is 
found in pluck. 

It is not luck, but pluck, which weaves the web of 
life ; it is not luck, but pluck, which turns the wheel 
of fortune. It is pluck that amasses wealth, that 
crowns men with honors, that forges the luxuries of 
life. We use the term pluck as synonymous with 
whole-hearted energy, genuine bravery of soul. 

That man is to be pitied who is too fearful and 
cowardly to go out and do battle for an honest living 
and a competence In the great field of human exer- 
tion. He is the man of luck, bad luck. Poor fellow ! 
He lost his luck when he lost his pluck. Good pluck 
is good luck. Bad pluck is bad luck. Many a man 
has lost his luck, but never while he had good pluck 
left. Men lose their luck by letting their energies 
leak out through bad habits and unwise projects. 
One man loses his luck in his late morning naps, 
another in his late evening hours. One loses his luck 
in the bar-room, another in the ball-room ; one down 
by the river holding the boyish fishing-rod, another 
in the woods chasing down the innocent squirrel. 
One loses his luck in folly, one in fashion, one in idle- 
ness, one in high living, one in dishonesty, one in 






brawls, one in sensualism, and a great many in bad 
management. Indeed, bad management is at the 
bottom of nearly all bad luck. It is bad management 
to train up a family of bad habits, to eat out one's 
living and corrupt his life. It is bad management to 
drink liquor, and eat tobacco, and smoke, and swear, 
and tattle, and visit soda-fountains, and cream saloons, 
Lfatres, and brothels, and live high, and chase 

:4r the fashions, and fret and scold, and get angry, 
and abuse people, and mind other people's business 
and neglect one's own. It is bad management to 
expose one's health or overtax one's powers, and get 
sick, and take drugs to get well ; to be idle or 
extravagant, or mean or dishonest. • All these things 
tend to bring that evil genius which men call bad luck. 

Indeed,- there is hardly a word in the vocabulary 

lich is more cruelly abused than the word 
^'To all the faults and failures of men, the^r positive 
sins and thei less culpable short-comings, it is made 
to stand a godfather and sponsor. We are all Micaw- 
bers at heart, fancying that "something" will one day 
''turn up" for our good, for which we have never 
striven. 

An unskillful commander sometimes wins a victory ; 
and again a famous warrior finds himself, ''after a 
hundred victories, foiled." Some of the skillfulest 
sea-captains lose every ship they sail in ; others, less 
experienced, never lose a spar. Some men's houses 
take fire an hour after the insurance expires ; others 
never insure, and never are burned out. Some of 
the shrewdest men,, with indefatigable industry and 





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the closest economy, fail to make money ; others, with 
apparently none of the qualities that insure success, 
are continually blundering into profitable speculations, 
and Midas-like, touch nothing but it turns to gold. 
Beau Brummell, with his lucky sixpence in his pocket, 
wins at every gaming-table, and bags ^40,000 in the 
clubs of London and Newmarket. 

So powerfully does fortune appear to sway the 
destinies of men, putting a silver spoon into one 
man's mouth, and a wooden one into another's, that 
some of the most sagacious of men, as Cardinal 
Mazarin and Rothschild, seem to have been inclined 
to regard luck as the first element of worldly success; 
experience, sagaeity, energy, and enterprise as noth- 
ing, if linked to an unlucky star. Whittington, and 
his cat that proved such a source of riches ; the man 
who, worn out by a painful disorder, attempted sui- 
cide, and was cured by opening an internal impos- 
thume ; the Persian, condemned to lose his tongue, 
on whom the operation was so bunglingly performed 
that it merely removed an impediment in his speech ; 
the painter who produced an effect he had long toiled 
after in vain, by throwing his brush at the picture in 
a fit of rage and despair ; the musical composer, who, 
having exhausted his patience in attempts to imitate 
on the piano a storm at sea, accomplished the precise 
result by angrily extending his hands to the two 
extremities of the keys, and bringing theni rapidly 
together — all these seem to many fit types of the freaks 
of fortune by which some- men are enriched or made 
(amous by their blunders, while others, w':h ten times 



hcr^- 



rm 







LUCK AND PLUCK. 



;o9 




•K 



') 





the capacity and knowledge, are kept at the bottom of 
her wheel. Hence we see thousands fold their arms 
and look with indifference on the great play of life, 
keeping aloof from its finest and therefore most ardu- 
ous struggles, because they believe that success is a 
/natter of accident, and that they may spend their 
heart's choicest blood and affection on noble ends,y 
.yet be balked^of jirictery, cheated of any just returns.' 
Really "lucky fellows" there have always been in the 
world; but in a great majority of cases they who are 
called such will be found on examination to be those 
keen-sighted men who have surveyed the world with 
a scrutinizing eye, and who to clear and exact ideas 
of what is necessary to be done unite the skill neces- 
sary to excute their well-approved plans. 

At first, in our admiration of the man who stands, 
^tpbn the topmost round of the ladder of fame, we are ' 
apt to mistake the way in which he g'of there. Our 
eyes are weary with gazing up, and dazzled by the 
brilliant light; and we fancy that God must have let 
him down out of heaven for us; never thinking that 
he may have clambered up, round after round, through 
the mists which shroud the base of that ladder, while 
all the world, in its heedlessness, was looking another 
way. Then, when we come to know better, w^e are 
content to lie prostrate at the foot of our ladder, as 
Jacob slept beneath his, dreaming that they are angels 
whom we see ascending, and believing they ascend by 
heaven-born genius, or some miraculous way, not by 
pluck. 

A better solution is that which explains the phe- 

14 . 







mi 




LUCK AND TLUCK. 



nomena of eminent' success by Industry. Clearly, 
the Industrious use of ordinary tools, whether mechan- 
ical or intellectual, will accomplish far more than the 
mere possession of the most perfectly appointed tool- 
chest that was ever contrived. This is especially 
true of the mind, whose powers improve with use. 
When we reflect how the sharp wit-blade grows 
keener in often cutting, how the logic-hammer swells 
into a perfect sledge in long striking, how all our 
mental tools gain strength and edge in severe employ- 
ment, we shall see that it is but a poor question to 
ask concerning success in life, " What tools had you ?" 
— that abetter question is, "How have you used 
your tools?" 

One who thus educates himself up to success is 
often contented to labor a long while in a very 
humble sphere. He knows too much, indeed, to aban- 
don one position before his powers for a higher one 
are fully ripe ; for he has observed that they who 
leap too rapidly from one of life's stepping-stones to 
another, are more likely to lose their footing than to 
improve it. Very often, therefore, one who possesses 
this character grows up to complete manhood before 
his neighbors take him out of his cradle. In some 
Western parish, in some country practice, or at the 
head of some district school, he labors quietly for 
years and years, gathering a secret strength from 
every occurrence of his life, unnoticed, unknown, 
until at last the crisis of opportunity arrives — to 
every man such opportunity some time comes — and 
he starts forth, armed and equipped, thoroughly built 



u 



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LUCK AND PLUCK. 



211 



^ 



-from head to foot; there is bone for strength, and 
stout muscle for movement, and society around is 
astonished to find that it contained such a power, and 
knew it not. This rise of an individual, thus trained, 
is sometimes surprising" in its suddenness. To the 
vision of mankind around, he seems to shoot up like 
a rocket ; and they gaze, and wonder, and glorify the 
power of genius. Whereas he grezu, grew by a 
slow, steady, natural process of growth, available to 
all men. He grew, however, under cover; and it 
was not until circumstances threw tke cover off him, 
that we saw to what stature he had attained. 

It is by the exercise of this forward-reaching 
industry that men attain eminence in intellectual life. 
The lives of eminent men of all nations determine, 
by a vote almost overwhelming, that whatever may 
have been their native powers, they did not attain 
their ultimate success without the most arduous, well* 
directed, life-lasting labor for self-improvement. 

Idleness is death; activity is life. The worker lis 
the hero. Luck lies in labor. This is the end. And 
labor the fruit of pluck. Luck and pluck, then, meet 
in labor. Pleasure blossoms on the tree of labor. 
Wisdom is its fruit. Thrones are built on labor. 
Kingdoms stand by its steady props. Homes arft 
made by labor. Every man of pluck will make him 
one and fill it with the fruits of industry. In doing 
this he will find no time to wait for, or complaid of, 
luck. 







'i ^- 




We can never overestimate the power of purpose 
and will. It takes hold of the heart of life. It spans 
our whole manhood. It enters into our hopes, aims, 
and prospects. It holds its sceptre over our business, 
our amusements, our philosophy, and religion. Its 
sphere is larger than we can at first imagine. 

The indomitable will, the inflexible purpose looking 
for future good through present evil, have always 
begotten confidence and commanded success, while 
the opposite qualities have as truly led to timid 
resolves, uncertain councils, alternate exaltation and 
depression, and final disappointment and disaster. A 
vacillating policy, irresolute councils, unstable will, 
subordination of the future to the present, efforts to 
relieve ourselves from existing trouble without pro- 
viding against its recurrence, may bring momentary 
quiet, but expose us to greater disquiet than ever 
hereafter. A double-minded man is unstable in all 
his ways. Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel. 

When a child is learning to walk, if you can induce 
the little creature to keep its eyes fixed on any point 
in advance, it will generally ''navigate" to that point 
without capsizing ; but distract its attention by word 
or act from the object before it, and down goes the 
baby. The rule applies to children of a larger growth. 
The man who starts in life with a determination to 
reach a certain position, and adheres unwaveringly to 







PURPOSE AND WILL 




his purpose, rejecting the advice of the over-cautious, 
and defying the auguries of the timid, rarely fails if 
he Hves long enough to reach the goal for which he 
set out. If circumstances oppose him, he bends them 
to his exigencies by the force of energetic, indomi- 
^-^^,jtab[le will. On the other hand, he who vacillates in 
/. Bis course, ''yawning," as the sailors say, toward ajl 
pomts; of the joiBpass, is pretty sure to become a;' 
heTpMls castaway before his voyage of life is half 
completed. 

There can be no question among philosophic 
observers of men and events, that fixedness of pur- 
pose is a grand element of human success. Weath- 
ercock men are nature's failures. They are good for 
nothing. 

The men of action, whose names are written 
^■■\K^^^=^'"i'niperishably on the page of history, were men o' 
^-T iron. Silky fellows may do for intngue, but the^ 

founders, and conquerors, and liberators, and saviors 
of empires, have all been of the warrior metal. No 
human being who habitually halts between two 
opinions, who cannot decide promptl}', and having 
decided, act as if there was no such word as fail, can 
ever be great. Caesar would never have crossed the 
Rubicon, nor Washington the Delaware, had they 
not fixed their stern gaze on objects far beyond the 
perils at their feet. 

Henry Ward Beecher, in a sermon, remarked": 
''We see supreme purposes which men have formed 
running through their whole career in this world. A 
young man means to be a civil engineer. That is the 








214 



PURPOSE AND WILL. 




thing to which his mind is made up ; not his father's 
'mind, perhaps, but his. He feels his adaptation to 
that calHng, and his drawing toward it. He is young, 
inexperienced, forgetful, accessible to youthful sym- 
pathies, and is frequently drawn aside from his life 
purpose. To-day he attends a picnic. Next week he 
devotes a day to some other excursion. Occasionally 
he loses a day in consequence of fatigue caused by 
overaction. Thus there is a link knocked out of the 
chain of this week, and a link out of the chain of that 
week. And in the course of the summer he takes a 
whole week, or a fortnight out of that purpose. Yet 
there is the thing in his mind, whether he sleeps or 
wakes. If you had asked him a month ago what he 
meant to be in life, he would have replied, ' I mean to 
be a civil engineer.' And if you ask him to-day what 
has been the tendency of' his life, he will say, ' I have 
been preparing myself to be a civil engineer.' If he 
waits and does nothing, the reason is that he wants 
an opportunity to carry out his purpose. That pur- 
pose governs his course, and he will not engage in 
anything that would conflict with it. 

"These generic principles in the soul are like 
those great invisible laws of nature, whose effects are 
seen in the falling of the pebble-stone, in all the 
various changes which natural objects undergo. When 
a man has formed in his mind a great sovereign pur- 
pose, it governs his cpnduct, as th.e law of nature 
governs the operation of physical things. 

** Every man should have a mark in view, and pur- 
sue it steadily. He should not be turned from his 



ti 



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rUKPOSE AND WILL. 



215 




f 




M 



course by other subjects ever so attractive. Life is 
not long enough for any one man to accomplish 
everything. Indeed but few can at best accomplish 
more than one thing well. Many, alas, very many ! 
accomplish nothing worthy. Yet there is not a man 
endowed with fair or ordinary intellect or capacity 
but can accomplish at least one useful, important, 
worthy purpose. 

^ ''But few men could ever succeed in more than one 
of the learned professions. Perhaps the man never 
lived who could master and become eminent in the 
practice of all of them — certainly not in them, and 
also in agriculture and the mechanic arts. Our 
country, every country, abounds with men possessing 
sufficient natural capacity for almost or quite any pur- 
suit they might select and pursue exclusively. Man's 
days, at most, are so few, and his capacity, at the 
highest, so small, that never yet has he even by con- 
fining the united efforts and energies of his life-time 
at the most trivial pursuit, much less in the deep and 
intricate learned professions, attained to perfection ; 
and he never will. How much less, then, are the 
probabilities of his exhausting several, and those 
perhaps the most complicated spheres of man's 
activity." 

It requires purpose, will, and oneness of aim and 
invincible determination to succeed- in some one 
calling. 

It is wz7/ — force of purpose — that enables a mao 
to do or be whatever he sets his mind on being or 
doing. A holy man was accustomed to sa}/, ''What- 



% 





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216 



PURPOSE AND WILL. 






ever you wish, that you are ; for such is the force of 
our will, joined to the Divine, that whatever we wish 
to be, seriously, and with a true intention, that we 
become. No one ardently wishes to be submissive, 
patient, modest, or liberal, who does not become 
what he wishes." 

Will is the monarch of the mind, ruling with des- 
potic, and at times with tyrannical powers. It is the 
rudder of the mind, giving- directions to its move- 
ments. It is the engineer giving course and point, 
speed and force to the mental machinery. It acts 
like a tonic among the soul's languid powers. It is 
the band that ties into a strong bundle the separate 
faculties of the soul. It is the man's momentum ; in 
a word, it is that power by which the energy or ener- 
gies of the soul are concentrated on a given point, or 
in a particular direction : it fuses the faculties into one 
mass, so that instead of scattering all over like grape 
and canister, they spend their united force on one 
point. The intellect is the legislative department, the 
sensibilities are the judicial, and the will the executive. 

Among the many causes of failure in life, none is 
more frequent than that feebleness of the will which ^j 
is indicated by spasmodic action — by fitful effort, 'j 

or lack of persistence. Dr. Arnold, whose long expe- \ 

Hence with youth at Rugby gave weight to his opinion, 
declared that ''the difference between one boy and ft^-c.4^, 
another consists not so much in talent as in energy." *^t^J^^ - 
The very reputation of being strong willed, plucky, 
and indefatigable, is of priceless value. It often 
cows enemies and dispels at the start opposition to 









^^r^i 




COURAGE. 

one's undertakirv^s which would otherwise be for- 
midable. 

Says Shakspeare, ''Our bodies are our gardens; 
to the which our souls are gardeners : so that if we 
will plant nettles, or sow lettuce ; sow hyssop, and 
weed up thyme ; supply it with one gender of 
herbs, and distract it with many ; either to have it^^ 
sterile with idleness,. or manured with industry; why; 
the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our 
wills^'" 

Where there is a will there is a way. Nothing is 
impossible to him who wills. Will is the root ; knowl- 
edge the stem and leaves ; feeling the flower. 

He who resolves upon doing a thing, by that very 
resolution often scales the barriers to it, and secures 
its achievement. To think we are able is almost to be 
so — to determine upon attairiment, is frequently^ 
attainment itself Thus, earnest resolution^ Kasoften^ "'^^y- 
seemed to have about it almost a savor of Omnipo- 
tence. *'You can only half will," Suwarrow would 
say to people who had failed. ''I don't know," ''I 
can't," and ''impossible," were words which he 
destested above all others. "Learn! do! try!" he 
would exclaim. 




Nothing that is of real worth can be achieved 
without courageous working. Man owes his growth 
chiefly to that active striving of the will, that encounter 




218 



COURAGE. 



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Xv 






with difficulty, which we call effort, and it is astonish- 
ino^ to find how often results apparently impracticable 
are thus made possible. An intense anticipation 
itself transforms possibility into reality ; our desires 
being- often but the precursors of the things which 
we are capable of performing. On the contrary, 
the timid and hesitating find everything impossible, 
chiefly because it seems so. It is related of a young 
French officer that he used to walk about his apart- 
ment exclaiming, '' I wi7/ be marshal of France and 
a great general." This ardent desire was the pre- 
sentiment of his success ; for he did become a dis- 
tinguished commander, and he died a marshal of 
France. 

Courage, by keeping the senses quiet and the under- 
standing clear, puts us in a condition to receive true 
intelligence, to make just computations upon danger, 
and pronounce rightly upon that which threatens us. 
Innocence of life, consciousness of worth, and oreat 
expectations are the best foundations of courage. 

True courage is the result of reasoning. A brave 
mind is always impregnable. Resolution lies more 
in the head than ia the veins ; and a just sense of 
of honor and of infamy, of duty and of religion, will 
carry us further than all the force of mechanism. 

To believe a business impossible is the way to make 
it so. How many feasible projects have miscarried 
through despondency, and been strangled in the birth 
by a cowardly imaginatipn. It is better to meet 
danger than to wait for it. A ship on a lee shore 
stands out to sea in a storm to escape shipwreck. 



^1 






COURAGE. 



219 



f^i 



Impossibilities, like vicious dogs, fly before him who 
is not afraid of them. Should misfortune overtake, 
retrench — work harder — but never fly the track — 
confront difficulties with unflinching perseverance. 
Should you then fail, you will be honored ; but shrink, 
and you will be despised. When you put your hands 
to a work, let the fact of your doing so constitute the 
evidence that you mean to prosecute it to the end. 
Stand like a beaten anvil. It is the part of a great 
champion to be stricken and conquer. 

"Trouble's darkest hour 
Shall not make me cower 
To the sceptre's power — 
Never, never, never. 



Then up my soul, and brace thee, 
While the perils face thee ; 
In thyself encase thee 
Manfully for ever. 

' Storms may howl around thee, 
Foes may hunt and hound thee ; 
Shall they overpower thee ? 
Never, never, never." 



Courage, like cowardice, is undoubtedly contagious, 
but some persons are not at all liable to catch it. The 
attention of restless and fickle men turns to no account ; 
poverty overtakes them whilst they are flying so many 
different ways to escape it. What is called courage 
is oftentimes nothing more than the fear of being 
thought a coward. The reverence that restrains us 
froin violating the laws of God or man is not unfre- 
quently branded with the name of cowardice. The 
Spartans had a saying, that he who stood most in 







r^y 






fear of the law generally showed the least fear 
of an enemy. And we may infer the truth of this 
from the reverse of the proposition, for daily experi- 
ence shows us that they who are the most daring- in 
a bad cause are often the most pusillanimous in a 
good one. 

Plutarch says courage consists not in hazarding 
without fear, but by being resolute in a just cause. 
An officer, after a very severe battle, on being com- 
plimented on standing his ground firmly, under a 
terrible fire, replied, ''Ah, if you knew how I was 
frightened, you would compliment me more still." It 
is not the stolid man, or the reckless man, who exhibits 
the noblest bravery in the great battle of life. It is 
the man whose nerves and conscience are all alive ; 
who looks before and behind ; who weighs well all 
the probabilities of success or defeat, and is deter- 
mined to stand his ground. There is another fine 
anecdote apropos to this subject: A phrenologist 
examining the head of the Duke of Wellington, said, 
''Your grace has not the organ of animal courage 
largely developed." "You are right," replied the 
great man, "and but for my sense of duty I should 
have retreated in my first fight." This first fight, in 
India, was one of the most terrible on record. O, 
that word "duty!" What is animal courage com- 
pared with it? Duty can create that courage, or its 
equivalent, but that courage never can create duty. 
The Duke of Wellington saw a man turn pale as he 
marched up to a battery. "That is a brave man," 
said he, "he knows his danger and faces it." 




-n*"^ 







COURAGE. 



t-^ 






To lead the forlorn hope in the field of courage 
requires less nerve than to fight nobly and unshrink- 
ingly the bloodless battle of life. To bear evil speak- 
ing and illiterate judgment with equanimity, is the 
highest bravery. It is, in fact, the repose of mental 
f^^GJaurage. 
.}^ Physical courage, which despises all danger, ^ will 
'^'■'iria'ke a man brave in one way; and moral courage, 
which, despises all opinion, will make a man brave in 
another. The former would seem most necessary for 
the camp, the latter for council ; but to constitute a 
great man, both are necessary. 

No one can tell who the heroes are, and who the 
cowards, until some crisis comes to put us to the 
test. And no crisis puts us to the test that does not 
^^%^w br^ng us up alone and single-handed to face danger.^^ ->^ 
^ * >.;\;!./S^lt-is nothing to make a rush with the multitude evejlp •> 
into the jaws of destruction. Sheep wilPuo that. 
Armies might be picked from the gutter, and marched 
up to make food for powder. But when some crisis 
singles one out from the multitude, pointing at him 
the particular finger of fate, and telling him, ''Stand 
or run," and he faces about with steady nerve, with 
nobody else to stand behind, we may be sure the 
hero stuff is in him. When such a crisis comes, the 
true courage is just as likely to be found in people of 
shrinking nerves, or in weak and timid women, as in 
great burly people. It is a moral, not a physical 
trait. Its seat is not in the temperament, but the will. 
How courageous Peter was, and all those square- 
built fishermen of the sea of Galilee, at the Last Sup- 






-B 





222 



COURAGE. 





per, and in the garden of Gethsemane, where Peter 
drew his sword and smote the officer ! But when 
Christ looked down from his cross, whom did he see 
standing- in that focus of Jewish rage? None of 
those stout fishermen, but a young man and a tender- 
hearted women — John and Mary. 

A good cause makes a courageous heart. They 
that fear an overthrow are half conquered. To be 
valorous is not always to be venturous. A warm 
heart requires a cool head. 

Though the occasions of high heroic daring seldom 
occur but in the history of the great, the less obtrusive 
opportunities for the exertion of private energy are 
continually offering themselves. With these, domestic 
scenes as much abound as does the tented field. Pain 
may be as firmly endured in the lonely chamber as 
amid the din of arms. Difficulties can be manfully 
combated ; misfortunes bravely sustained ; poverty 
nobly supported; disappointments courageously en- 
countered. Thus courage diffiises a wide and succor- 
ing influence, and bestows energy apportioned to the 
trial. It takes from calamity its dejecting quality, and 
enables the soul to possess itself under every vicis- 
situde. It rescues the unhappy from degradation, and 
the feeble from contempt. 

Courage, like every other emotion, however laud- 
able in its pure form, may be allowed to degenerate 
into a faulty extreme. Thus, rashness, too often 
assuming the name of courage, has no pretentions to 
its merit. For rashness urges to useless and impos- 
sible efforts, and thus produces a waste of vigor and 




\\ 'f 






LITTLK THINGS. 



Spirit, that, properly restrained and well directed, 
would have achieved deeds worthy to be achieved. 
Rashness is the exuberance of courage, and ought to 
be checked, as we prune off the useless though 
vigorous shoots of shrubs and trees. 



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Trifles are not to be despised. The nerve of a 
tooth, not so large as the finest cambric needle, will 
sometimes drive a strong man to distraction. A 
musquito can make an elephant absolutely mad. The 
coral rock, which causes a navy to founder, is the 
work of tiny insects. The warrior that withstood 
death in a thousand forms may be killed by an insect. 
For want of a nail the shoe was lost ; for want of a 
shoe the horse was lost ; for want of a horse the 
rider was lost. Every pea helps to fill the peck.. 
Little and often fills the purse. Moments are the 
golden sands of time. Every day is a little life ; and 
our whole life is but a day repeated; those, therefore, 
who dare lose a day, are dangerously prodigal ; those 
who dare misspend it, desperate. Springs are little 
things, but they are sources of large streams ; a helm 
is a little thing, but it governs the course of a ship; 
a bridle bit is a little thing, but see its use and power; 
nails and pegs are little things, but they hold parts 
of large buildings together ; a word, a look, a frown, 
all are little things, but powerful for good or evil. 





224 



LITTLE TlUN' 




Think of this, and mind the Httle things. Pay that 
Httle debt — its promise redeem. 

Little acts are the elements of true greatness. 
They raise life's value like the little figures over the 
larger ones in arithmetic, to its highest power. They 
are tests of character and disinterestedness. They 
are the straws upon life's deceitful current, ana show 
the current's way. The heart comes all out in them. 
They move on the dial of character and responsibility 
significantly. They indicate the character and destiny. 
They help to make the immortal man. It matters not 
so much where we are as what we are. It is seldom 
that acts of moral heroism are called for*. Rather the 
real heroism of life is, to do all its little duties promptly 
and faithfully. 

There are no such things as trifles in the biography 
of man. Drops make up the sea. Acorns cover the 
earth with oaks and the ocean with navies. Sands 
make up the bar in the harbor's mouth, on which 
vessels are wrecked ; and little things in youth accu- 
mulate into character in age, and destiny in eternity. 
All the links in that glorious chain which is in all and 
around all, we can. see and admire, or at least admit; 
but the staple to which all is fastened, and which is 
the conductor of all, is the Throne of Deity. 

If you cannot be a great river, bearing great ves- 
sels of blessing to the world, you can be a little 
spring by the wayside of life, singing merrily all day 
and all night, and giving a cup of cold water to every 
weary, thirsty one who passes by. 

Life is made up of little things. He who travels 











MUSIC 

Oh, the rapturous charm of music! What power it has to soften, melt, enchain in its 

spirit-chord of subduing harmony. Truly there is i)ower in music. 

It will tyrannize over the soul. It will wring adoration 

from the soul and coimpel the heart to yield 

its treasures of love. (Page 493.) 




MUSIC IN THE HOME 

Music learned in childhood is like birds nestling in the bosom; their notes will be 

heard and loved in after years. Show us the family where good music is 

cultivated, where the parents and children are accustomed often to 

mingle their voices together in song, and we will show 

you one where peace, harmony and 

love prevail. (Page 497.) 



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hirTLK THINGS, 



225 



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aver a continent must go step by step 

writes books must do it sentence by sentence. 

who learns a science must master it fact by fact, and 
principle after principle. What is the happiness of 

our.Jife made up of? Little courtesies, little kind- 
'aesses, pleasant words, genial smiles, a friendly letter, 
g-Qod wishes, and .good deeds. One in a millioji^^ 
once in a lifetime — may do a heroic action; but the 
little things that make up our life come every day 
and every hour. If we make the little events of life 
beautiful and good, then is the whole life full of 
beauty and goodness. 

There is nothing too little for so little a creature as 
man. It is by studying little things that we attain the 
great art of having as little misery and as much hap- 
.pmess as possible. *'If a straw," says Dryden, "can 
be made the instrument of happiness^^ie is a wise 
man who does not despise it." A very little thing 
makes all the difference. You stand in the engine- 
room of a steamer ; you admit the steam to the cylin- 
ders, and the paddles turn ahead ; a touch of a 
■ever, you admit the self-same steam to the self-same 
cylinders, and the paddles turn astern. It is so, 
oftentimes, in the moral world. The turning of a 
3traw decides whether the engines shall work forward 
or backward. Look to the littles. The atomic 
theory is the true one. The universe is but an 
infinite attrition of particles. The grandest whole is 
resolvable to fractions ; or, as the ditty has it — 



"Little drops of water and little grains of sand. 
Fill the mighty ocean and form the solid land. 





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226 



LITTLE THINGS.. 



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Is it not strange that, in the face of these facts, 
men will neglect details ? that many even consider 
them beneath their notice, and, when they hear of 
the success of a business man who is, perhaps, more 
solid than brilliant, sneeringly say that he is ''great 
in little things?" Is it not the ''little things" that, 
in the aggregate, make up whatever is great? Is it 
not the countless grains of sand that make the 
beach ; the trees that form the forest ; the successive 
strata of rock that compose the mountains ; the 
myriads of almost imperceptible stars that whiten the 
heavens with the milky-way? So with character, 
fortune, and all the concerns of life — the littles com- 
bined form the great bulk. If we look well to the 
disposition of these, the sum total will be cared for. 
It is the minutes wasted that wound the hours and 
mar the day. It is the pennies neglected that squan- 
der the dollars. The majority of men disdain littles 
— to many fractions are "vulgar" in more senses 
than the rule implies. It is apt to be thought indica- 
tive of a narrow mind and petty spirit to be 
scrupulous about littles. Yet from littles have sprung 
the mass of great vices and crimes. In habits, in 
manners, in business, we have only to watch the 
littles, and all will come out clear. The smallest leak, 
overlooked, may sink a ship — the smallest tendency 
to evil thinking or evil doing, left unguarded, may 
wreck character and life. No ridicule should dissuade 
us from looking to the littles. The greatest and best 
of men have not been above caring for the littles — 
some of which have to do with every hour and every 
>urpose of ouP'Uv£^-^—:^"^- 



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Often what seems a trifle, a mere nothing- by itself, 
in some nice situation turns the scale of fate, and rules 
the most important actions. The cackling" of a goose 
is fabled to have saved Rome from the Gauls, and the 
pain produced by a thistle to have warned a Scottish 
army of the approach to the Danes ; and according 
to the following anecdote from Randall's ''Life of 
Jefferson," it seems that flies contributed to hasten 
the American independence: While the question of 
independence was before Congress, it had its meeting 
near a livery stable. Its members wore short breeches 
and silk stockings, and, with handkerchief in hand^ 
they were diligently employed in lashing the flies from 
their legs. So very vexatious was this annoyance, 
and to so great an impatience did it arouse the suffer- 
ers, that it hastened, if it did not aid in inducing th^m 
^6 promptly affix their signatures to the great docuj)- 
ment which gave birth to an empire repub^ftl 

Discoveries are made mostly by little things. The 
art of printing owes its origin to rude impressions 
(for the amusement of children) from letters carved 
on the bark of a beech tree. It was a slight matter 
which thousands would have passed over with neglect 
Gunpowder was discovered from the falling of a spark 
on some material mixed in a mortar. 

The stupendous results of the steam-engine may 
all be attributed to an individual observing steam 
issuing from a bottle just emptied and placed casually 
close to a fire. He plunged the bottle's neck into 
cold water and was intelligent enough to notice the 
instantaneous rush which ensued from this simple 




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228 



LITTLE THINGS. 



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condensing apparatus. Electricity was discovered by 
a person observing that a piece of rubbed glass, 
or some similar substance, attracted small bits of 
paper, etc. 

Galvanism again owes its origin to Madame Gal- 
vani's noticing the contraction of the muscles of a 
skinned frog which was accidently touched by a person 
at the moment of the professor, her husband, taking 
an electric spark from a machine. He followed up 
the hint by experiments. 

Pendulum clocks were invented from Galileo's 
observing the lamp in a church swinging to and fro. 
The telescope we owe to some children of a spec- 
tacle-maker placing two or more pairs of spectacles 
before each other and looking through them at a 
distant object. The glimpse thus afforded was fol- 
lowed up by older heads. 

The barometer originated in the circumstance of a 
pump which had been fixed higher than usual above 
>he surface of a well. A sagacious observer hence 
tleduced the pressure of the atmosphere and tried 
quicksilver. 

The Argand lamp was invented by one of the 
brothers of that name having remarked that a tube 
held by chance over a candle caused it to burn with a 
bright flame.- 

Sedulous attention and painstaking industry always 
mark the true worker. The greatest men are not 
those who ''despise the day of small things," but 
those 3vho improve it the most carefully. Michael 
Angelo was one day explaining to a visitor at his 





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Studio what he had been doing- at a statue since hii' 
previous visit. "I have retouched this part — pol 
ished that — softened this feature — brought out that 
muscle — given some expression to this Hp, and more 
energy to that Hmb." ''But these are trifles," re- 
marked the visitor. '*It may be so," repHed the 
sculptor, ''but recollect that trifles make perfection 
and perfection is no trifle." So it was said of Nicho- 
las Poissin the painter, that the rule of his conduct 
was, that "whatever was worth doing at all was 
worth doing well ;" and when asked, late in life, b} 
what means he had gained so high a reputation 
among the painters of Italy, he emphatically answered, 
"Because I have neglected nothing." 

Many of the most distinguished names in the world's 
history were nearly half a century in attracting the 
^ ^admiring notice of mankind ; as witness Grorawej^^^ 
and Cavour, and Bismarck and Paimefston, and the ' ,;^^S 
elder Beecher. But their star will never die ; their 0, 

works, their influence on the age in which they lived, 
will be perpetuated to remote g"enerations. This 
should be encouragement to all the plodders, for 
tkei'r time may come. 

It is the intelligent eye of the careful observer 
which gives apparently trivial phenomena their value. 
So trifling a matter as the sight of sea-weed floating 
past Jiis ship, enabled Columbus to quell the mutiny 
which rose among his sailors at not discovering land, 
and to assure them that the eagerly sought New 
World was not far off There is nothing so small 
that it should remain forgotten ; and no fact, howevef 




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LITTLE 





230 



trivial, but may prove useful in some way or other 
if carefully interpreted. Who could have imagined 
that the famous "chalk-cliffs of Albion" had been 
built up by tiny insects — detected only by the help of 
the microscope — of the same order of creatures that 
have g-emmed the sea with islands of coral ! And 
who that contemplates such extraordinary results, 
arising from infinitely minute operations, will venture 
to question the power of little things? 

It is the close observation of little things which is 
the secret of success in business, in art, in science, 
and in every pursuit in life. Human knowledge is 
but an accumulation of small facts, made by successive 
generations of men, the little bits of knowledge and 
experience carefully treasured up by them growing at 
length into a mighty pyramid. Though many of 
these facts and observations seemed in the first 
instance to have but slight significance, they are all 
found to have their eventful uses, and to fit into their 
proper places. Even many speculations seemingly 
remote turn out to be the basis of results the most 
obviously practical. In the case of the conic sections 
discovered by Apollonius Pergoeus, twenty centuries 
elapsed before they were made the basis of astronomy 
— a science which enables the modern navigator to 
steer his way through unknown seas, and traces for 
him in the heavens an unerring path to his appointed 
haven. And had not mathematics toiled for so long, 
and, to uninstructed observers, apparently so fruit- 
lessly, over the abstract relations of lines and surfaces,, 
it is probable that but few of our mechanical inven- 
tions would have seen the lip-ht. 



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ECONOMY, 




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When Franklin made his discovery of the identity 
of lightning" and electricity, it was sneered at, and 
people asked, ''Of what use is it?" to which his apt 
reply was, ''What is the use of a child? It may 
become a man ! " When Galvani discovered that a 
frog's leg twitched when placed in contact with differ- 
ent metals, it could scarcely have been imagined that 
so apparently insignificant a fact could have lead to 
important results. Yet therein lay the germ of the 
electric telegraph, which binds the intelligence of 
continents together, and has "put a girdle round the 
globe." So, too, little bits of stone and fossil, dug 
out of the earth, intelligently interpreted, have issued 
in the science of geology and the practical operations 
of mining, in which large capitals are invested and 
vast numbers of persons profitably employed. 





Economy is the parent of integrity, of liberty, and 
of ease ; of cheerfulness, and of health ; and profuse- 
ness is a cruel and crazy demon, that gradually 
involves her followers in dependence and debt ; that is, 
fetters them with "irons that enter into their souls." 

A sound economy is a sound understanding 
brought into action. It is calculation realized; it is 
the doctrine of proportion reduced to practice. It is 
foreseeing contingencies and providing against them. 
Economy is one of three sisters of whom the other 



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'■^<^-^: 




and less reputable two are avarice and prodigality. 
She alone keeps the straight and safe path, while ava- 
rice sneers at her as profuse, and prodigality scorns at 
her as penurious. To the poor she is indispensable ; 
to those of moderate means she is found the represen- 
tative of wisdom. The loose change which many 
young men throw away uselessly, and sometimes 
even worse, would often form the basis of fortune and 
independence. But when it is so recklessly squan- 
dered it becomes the worst enemy to the young man. 
He will soon find that he has bought nothing but 
expensive habits, and perhaps a ruined character. 
Economy, joined to industry and sobriety is a better 
outfit to business than a dowry. 

We don't like stinginess, we don't like economy, 
when it comes down to rags and starvation. We 
have no sympathy with the notion that the poor man 
should hitch himself to a post and stand still, while the 
rest of the world moves forward. It is no man's duty 
to deny himself every amusement, every recreation, 
every comfort, that he may get rich. It is no man's 
duty to make an iceberg of himself, to shut his eyes 
and ears to the sufferings of his fellows, and to deny 
himself the enjoyment that results from generous 
actions, merely that he may hoard wealth for his heirs 
to quarrel about. But there is an economy which is 
every man's duty, and which is especially commend- 
able in the man who struggles with poverty — an 
economy which is consistent with happiness, and 
which must be practiced if the poor man would secure 
independence. It is almost every man's privilege. 




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ECONOMY. 



and it becomes his duty, to live within his means ; not 
to, but within them. This practice is of the very 
essence of honesty. For if a man does not manage 
honestly to live within his own means, he must neces- 
sarily be living- dishonestly upon the means of some 
pae-^lse. If your means do not suit your ends, pur- 
''. sue those ends which suit your means. Men are 
ruined not by what. they really want, but by what they^ 
think they want. Therefore they should never go 
abroad in search of their wants ; if they be real wants 
they will come home in search of them ; for if they 
buy what they do not want, they will soon want what 
they cannot buy. 

Wealth does not make the man, we admit, and 
should never be taken into the account in our judg- 
ment of men'; but competence should always be 
secured, when it can be, by the practice of ^economy'),; 
and self-denial only to a tolerable eXteffS It shoulclti 
be secured, not so much for others to look upon, or 
to raise us in the estimation of others, as to secure 
the consciousness of independence, and the constant 
satisfaction which is derived from its acquirement and 
possession. 

Simple industry and thrift will go far toward making 
any person of ordinary working faculty comparatively 
independent in his means. Almost every working 
man may be so, provided he will carefully husband 
his resources and watch the little outlets of useless 
expenditure. A penny is a very small matter, yet 
the comfort of thousands of families depends upon 
the proper saving and spending of pennies. If a 



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man allow the little pennies, the result of his hard 
work, to slip out of his fingers — some to the beer- 
shop, some this way and some that — he will find that 
his life is little raised above one of mere animal 
drudgery. On the other hand, if he take care of the 
pennies ; putting some weekly into a benefit society 
or an insurance fund, others into a savings-bank, and 
confiding the rest to his wife to be carefully laid out, 
with a view to the comfortable maintenance and 
education of his family, he will soon find that his 
attention to small matters will abundantly repay him, 
in increasing means, growing comfort at home, and a 
mind comparatively free from fears as to the future. 
If a working man have high ambition and possess 
richness in spirit — a kind of wealth which far tran- 
scends all mere worldly possessions- — he may not 
only help himself, but be a profitable helper of others 
in his path through life. 

When one is blessed with good sense, and fair 
opportunities, this spirit of economy is one of the 
most beneficial of all secular gifts, and takes high rank 
among the minor virtues. It is by this mysterious 
power that the loaf is multiplied, that using does not 
waste, that little becomes much, that scattered frag- 
ments grow to unity, and that out of nothing, or next 
to nothing, comes the miracle of something ! Economy 
is not merely saving, still less, parsimony. It is fore- 
sight and arrangement. It is insight and combina- 
tion. It is a subtle philosophy of things by which 
new uses, new compositions are discovered. It causes 
inert things to labor, useless things to serve our 



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necessities, perishing- things to renew their vigor, 
and all things to exert hemselves for human comfort. 
Economy is generalship in little things. We know 
men who live better on a thousand dollars a year than 
others upon five thousand. We know very poor 
persons who bear about with them in everything a 
sense of fitness and nice arrangement, which makes 
their life artistic. There are day laborers who go 
^%ome to more real comfort of neatness, arrangement, 
and prosperity, in their single snug room, than is 
found in the lordly dwellings of many millionaires. 
And blessings be on their good angel of economy, 
which wastes nothing, and yet is not sordid in saving ; 
that lavishes nothing, and is not parsimonious in giv- 
ing; that spreads out a little with the blessings of 
taste upon it, which, if it does not multiply the pro- 
vision, more than makes it up in the pleasure /giv^n, 
,^Let no man despise economy. ,, "'^^ 

There is no virtue so unduly appreciate'd as economy, 
nor is there one more truly worthy of estimation ; a 
neglect of economy eventually leads to every misery 
of poverty and degradation, not unfrequently to every 
variety of error and of crime. Dr. Johnson asserted 
''that where there was no prudence, there was no 
virtue." Of all the maxims pronounced by that great 
moralist, perhaps no one was more just or more 
instructive. Even in that branch of prudence that 
directs us to take cognizance of our pecuniary affairs, 
the propriety of this aphorism is very striking. 

The progress of civilization has incurred a necessity 
of barter and exchange as the means of subsistence. 






Thus wealth, as the medium of acquiring all the 
comforts and all the luxuries of life, has obtained high 
consideration among mankind. Philosophers may 
therefore scoff as much as they please at the value 
placed upon riches, but they will never succeed in 
lessening the desire for their possession. When 
considered as the means of enjoying existence, it 
must be seen that it is only by the judicious expendi- 
ture of wealth, that this end can be obtained. Pass 
a few years, and the prodigal is penniless. How few, 
under such circumstances, directly or indirectly, are 
guilty of injustice and cruelty. Debts unpaid, friends 
deceived, kindred deprived of a rightful inheritance — 
such are the consequences of profusion, and are not 
such positive acts of injustice and cruelty ? Let those, 
therefore, who indignantly stigmatize the miser as a 
pest to society, and in a fancied honorable horror of 
miserly meanness are for showing their nobler spirit 
by running- into an opposite extreme, reflect, that 
though different the means, the results of profusion 
are similar, exactly conducting to the same crimes 
and miseries. The taste of the age is so much more 
friendly to prodigality; the lavish expenditure of 
wealth, by conducing to the gratification of society, 
is so often unduly applauded, that it is an extreme 
likely to be rushed upon. But when the real con- 
sequences of its indulgence are fairly and dispas- 
sionately surveyed, its true deformity will be quickly 
perceived. 

In short, economy appears to induce the exertion of 
almost every laudable emotion ; a strict regard to hon- 






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P^ARM LIFE. 



237 



esty ; a spirit of independence ; a judicious prudence 
in providing- for the wants ; a steady benevolence in 
preparing for the claims of the future. Really we 
seem to have run the circle of the virtues ; justice and 
disinterestedness, honesty, independence, prudence 
and benevolence. , 





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Agriculture is the greatest among the -jrtH, for it 
is first in supplying our necessities. It is the mother 
and nurse of all other arts. It favors and strengthens 
population ; it creates and maintains manufactures, 
gives employment to navigation and materials to-qome^; 
merce. It animates every specie^s.gf industry, anc^ 
opens to nations the surest channels of opulence. It 
is also the strongest bond of well-regulated society, 
the surest basis of internal peace, the natural associate 
of good morals. 

We ought to count among the benefits of agricul- 
ture the charm which the practice of it communicates 
to a country life. . That charm which has made the 
country, in our own view, the retreat of the hero, the 
asylum of the sage, and the temple of the historic 
muse. The strong desire, the longing after the 
country, with which we find the bulk of mankind to 
be penetrated, points to it as the chosen abode of 
sublunary bliss. The sweet occupations of culture, 
with her varied products and attendant enjoyments 







0^ 




i 



FARM LIFE. 




least, a relief from the stifling atmosphere of 
the city, the monotony of subdivided employments, 
the anxious uncertainty of commerce, the vexations 
of ambition so often disappointed, of self-love so 
often mortified, of fictitious pleasures and unsubstan- 
tial vanities. 

Health, the first and best of all the blessings of life, 
is preserved and fortified by the practice of agriculture. 
That state of well-being which we feel and cannot 
define ; that self-satisfied disposition which depends, 
perhaps, on the perfect equilibrium and easy play of 
vital forces, turns the slightest acts to pleasure, and 
makes every exertion of our faculties a source of 
enjoyment ; this inestimable state of our bodily func- 
tions is most vigorous in the country, and if lost else- 
where, it is in the country we expect to recover it. 




> -A 



\T 



■In ancient times, the sacred ])lo\v employ'd 
Tlie "kings, and awful fathers of mankind: 
And some, with whom compared, your insect tribes 
Are but the beings of a summer's day, 
Flave held the scale of empire, ruled the storm 
Of mighty war, then, with unwearied hand, 
Disdaining little delicacies, seized 
The plow and greatly independent lived.'''' 

— Thomson'^ Seasons. 



We deplore the disposition of young men to get 
away from their farm homes to our large cities, where 
they are subject to difficulties and temptations, which 
but too often they fail to overcome. 

Depend upon it, if you would hold ^^our sons and 
brothers back from roaming away into the perilous 
centres, you must steadily make three attempts — to 







FARM LIFE. 



239 



abate the task-work of farming, to raise maximum 
crops and profits, and to surround your work with the 
exhilaration of intellectual progress. You must ele- 
vate the whole spirit of your vocation for your 
vocation's sake, till no other can outstrip it in what 
most adorns and strengthens a civilized state. 

We have long observed, and with unfeigned 
^le^^li^he growing tendency of young men and lads, 
yet early in their teens, to abandon the healthful and 
ennobling cares of the farm for the dangerous excite- 
ments and vicissitudes of city life and trade. Delight- 
ful firesides and friendly circles in the quiet rural 
districts are every day sacrificed to this lamentable 
mania of the times. Young men, favored with every 
comfort of life, and not overworked, fancy that- they 
may do far better than ''to guide the ox or turn t^ie 
'ubborn glebe ;" and with the merest trifle of con- 
sideration their hands are withdrawn from -tHe imple- 
ments of agriculture and given to the office or shop- 
work of the city, which generally proves vastly less 
agreeable or profitable than they had (in their 
inexcusable thoughtlessness) anticipated. Disap- 
pointed and chagrined, they faint under the advance 
of 

"Nimble mischance, that comes so swift of foot," 



and where one is enabled to withstand the sweeping 
tide of temptation, five are submerged in its angry 
waves and hurried on to ruin. Every year finds 
hundreds, ay, thousands, of such victims irrecoverably 
allied to the fallen and vicious of every class, fiom 



yO 



C^''^ 



< '^ 



C^ 



the smoothed-ton^ued parlor gambler and rake, to 
the more deg^raded, if not more despicable, ''Bowery 
Boy" and ''Dead Rabbit," while the prison doors, and 
worse, the gates of hell, close on many "lost ones" 
who had been saved but for the foolish desertion of 
home and true friends. It has been well said that 
"for a young man of unstable habits and without 
religious principles, there is no place where he will be 
so soon ruined as in a large city." 

Parents throughout the country have not failed to 
realize this startling truth, and to sorely mourn the 
strange inclination of their sons to encounter the 
fascinating snares and pitfalls of city residence and 
fashion. In brief, let the country lad be as well 
educated for the farm as his city cousin is for the bar, 
or the counting-room. And by all possible means let 
the farmer be led to properly estimate his high and 
honorable position in the community. "Ever remem- 
ber," writes Goldthwait, "that for health and sub- 
stantial wealth, for rare opportunities for self-improve- 
ment, for long life and real independence, farming is 
the best business in the world." History tells of one 
who was called from the plow to the palace, from the 
farm to the forum ; and when he had silenced the 
angry tumults of a State resumed again the quiet, 
duties of a husbandman. Of whose resting-])Iace 
did irialleck write these beautiful lines 'i 



"Such graves as his are pilgrim-shrines, 
Shrines to no code or creed confined 
The Delphian vales, the Palestines, 
The Meccas of the naind." 




d. 



I! 





THE BRIDE ON THE WEDDING MORN 

It is the happiest hour of human life, and breaks upon the young heart like a gentle 
spring upon the flowers of earth. It is the heart's hour, full of blissful 
contemplation, rich promises and the soul's happy 
v revels. (Page 461.) 




BEAUTY 

Who can range the sunny fields and shady forests on a bright summer's day, 

and listen, to the melody of a thousand voices chanting their 

Maker's praise, and not feel the soul melt with joy and 

gratitude for such refreshing scenes? (Page 487.) 







FARM LIFE. 









He referred to Burns, the plow-boy, afterward the 
national bard of Scotland. And Burns himself has 
left evidence that he composed some of the rarest 
gems of his poetry while engaged in rural pursuits. 

It would require volumes to enumerate the noble 
men who have imperishably recorded their exalted 
appreciation of rurul life and enterprise. Every age 
has augmented the illustrious number. Our own 
immortal Washington was ever more enamored of the 
sickle than the sword, and unhesitatingly pronounced 
agriculture "the most healthy, the most useful, and 
the most noble employment of man." 

When we walk abroad in nature, we go not as 
artists to study her scenes, but as her children to 
rejoice in her beauty. The breath of the air, the blue 
of the unclouded sky, the shining sun, and the green 
."Softness of the unflowered turf beneath our feet, are all 
that we require to make us feel that we are trans- 
ported into a region of delights. We breathe and 
tread in a pure untroubled world, and the fresh clear 
delight that breathes round our senses seems to bathe 
our spirits in the innocence of nature. It is not that 
we have prized a solitude which secludes us from the 
world of life ; but the aspects on which we look 
breathe a spirit ; the characters we read speak a lan- 
guage which, mysterious and obscurely intelligible as 
they are, draw us on with an eager and undefined 
desire. In shapes and sounds of fear ; In naked crags, 
gulfs, precipices, torrents that have rage without 
beauty, desolate places; there is to that temper of 
mind an attractive power. All speak in some way to 



\ 





242 



SUCCESS. 



r?r% 



£'i 



I. 



the spirit, and raise up in it new and hidden emotion, 
which, even when mingled with pain, it is glad to 
feel ; for such emotion makes discovery to it of its 
own nature, and the interest it feels so strongly 
springs up from and returns into itself. 

Of all occupations, that of agriculture is best calcu- 
lated to induce love of country, and rivet it firmly on 
the heart. No profession is more honorable, none as 
conducive to health, peace, tranquility and happiness. 
More independent than any other calling, it is calcu- 
lated to produce an innate love of liberty. The farmer 
stands upon a lofty eminence, and looks upon the 
bustle of cities, the intricacies of mechanism, the din 
of commerce, and brain-confusing, body-killing litera- 
ture, with feelings of personal freedom, peculiarly his 
own. He delights In the prosperity of the city as his 
market place, acknowledges the usefulness of the 
mechanic, admires the enterprise of the commercial 
man, and rejoices in the benefits that flow from the 
untiring investigations and developments of science ; 
then turns his thoughts to the pristine quiet of his 
agrarian domain, and covets not the fame that accu- 
mulates around the other professions. 



\n 



# 



^^y- 



'mttt%%< 




Twenty clerks in a store ; twenty hands in a print- 
ing office ; twenty apprentices in a shipyard ; twenty 
young men in a village — all want to get on in the 



'^^v\ .^, 



diST' 



^M 



L 



SUCCESS. 



world, and expect to succeed. One of the clerks will 
become a partner and make a fortune ; one of the 
compositors will own a newspaper and become an 
influential citizen ; one of the apprentices will become 
a master builder; one of the young villagers will get 
a handsome farm and live like a patriarch — but which 
one is the lucky individual ? Lucky ! there is no luck 
about it. The thing is almost as certain as the Rule 
of Three. The young fellow who will distance his 
competitors is he who masters his business, who 
preserves his integrity, who lives cleanly and purely, 
who devotes his leisure , hours to the acquisition of 
knowledge, who never gets into debt, who gains 
friends by deserving them., and who saves his spare 
money. There are some ways to fortune shorter 
than this old dusty highway — but the staunch men 
of the community, the men who achieve something p 
really worth having, good fortune and serene old age, 
all go on in this road. 

We hear a great deal about "good luck" and. ''bad 
luck." If a person has prospered in business, he is 
said to have had ''good luck." If he has failed, he 
has had ''bad luck." If he has been sick, good or; 
bad luck is said to have visited him, accordingly as 
he got well or died. Or, if he has remained in good 
health, while others have been attacked by some 
epidemic disease, he has had the "good luck to escape 
that with which others have had the "bad luck" to 
be seized. Good or bad luck is, in most cases, but a 
synonym for good or bad judgment. The prudent, 
the considerate, and the circumspect seldom complain 
of ill luck. 





244 



SUCCESS. 




We do not know anything which more fascinates 
youth than what, for want of a better word, we may 
call brilliancy. Gradually, however, this peculiar 
kind of estimation changes very much. It is no lon- 
ger those who are briUiant, those who affect to do 
the most and the best work with the least apparent 
pains and trouble, whom we are most inclined to 
admire. We eventually come to admire labor, and to 
respect it the more, the more openly it is proclaimed 
by the laborious man to be the cause of his success, 
if he has any success to boast of 

A great moral safeguard is the habit of industry. 
This promotes our happiness ; and so leaves no crav- 
ings for those vices which lead on and down to sin 
and its untold miseries. Industry conducts to pros- 
perity. Fortunes may, it is true, be won in a day ; 
but may also be lost in a day. It is only the hand 
of the diligent that makes one premanently rich. 
The late Mr. Ticknor, of Boston, a model merchant 
and publisher, in his last hours spoke of the value of 
a steady pursuit of one's legitimate business. He 
commented on the insane traffic in gold at that 
moment, as ruinous to the country and the parties 
engaged in it. ''The pathway of its track," said he, 
*'is strewn with wrecks of men and fortunes; but few 
have failed of success who were honest, earnest, and 
patient." He attributed his own success to his cling- 
ing to his resolution to avoid all speculations, and 
steadily pursuing the business of his choice. He had 
been bred to the trade of a broker ; but thought it as 
dangerous as the lottery and dice. And no young 






man could fail to be warned by him, who had seen 
the frenzy that comes over the ''Brokers' Board." 
''A Babel of conflicting sounds — a hot oven of excite- 
ment" is that board; it is a moral storm which few 
can withstand long-. How much wiser is he who 
^M^ ^^cv^keeps out of this whirlpool, content with an honest. 
^} *^calling and reasonable gains. jJ-^4; 

Who are the suecessful men ? They are those who 
when boys were compelled to work either to help 
themselves or their parents, and who when a little 
older were under the stern necessity of doing more 
than their legitimate share of labor ; who as young 
men had their wits sharpened by having to devise 
ways and means of making their time more available 
than It would be under ordinary circumstances. 
Hence in reading the lives of eminent men who have, 
^5^reatly distinguished themselves, we find their youth ;/^ 
passed In self-denials of food, sleef),'''fest, and recrea^ 
tion. They sat up late, rose early, to the performance 
of imperative duties, doing by daylight the work of 
one man, and by night that of another. Said a 
gentleman, the other day, now a private banker of 
high Integrity, and who started in life without a dollar, 
''For years I was in my place of business by sunrise, 
and often did not leave it for fifteen or eighteen 
hours." Let not, then, any youth be discouraged if 
he has to make his own living, or even to support a 
widowed mother, or sick sister, or unfortunate rela- 
tive ; for this has been the road to eminence of many 
a proud name. This is the path which printers pnd 
teachers have often trod — thorny enough at times at 






•e 





SUCCESS. 



Others so beset with obstacles as to be almost impas 
sible ; but the way was cleared, sunshine came, success 
followed — then the glory and renown. 

The secret of one's success or failure in nearly 
every enterprise is usually contained in answer to the 
question: How earnest is he? Success is the child 
of confidence and perseverance. The talent of suc- 
cess is simply doing what you can do well, and doing 
well whatever you do — without a thought of fame. 
Fame never comes because it is craved. Success is 
the best test of capacity. Success is not always a 
proper criterion for judging a man's character. It is 
certain that success naturally confirms us in a favor- 
able opinion of ourselves. Success in life consists in 
the proper and harmonious development of those 
faculties which God has given us. 

Be thrifty that you may have wherewith to be 
charitable. He that labors and thrives spins gold. 

We are familiar with people who whine continually 
at fate. To believe them, never was a lot so hard as 
theirs ; yet those who know their history will gener- 
ally tell you that their life has been but one long tale 
of opportunities disregarded, or misfortunes other- 
wise deserved. Perhaps they were born poor. In 
this case they hate the rich, and have always hated 
them, but without ever having emulated their pru- 
dence or energy. Perhaps they have seen their rivals 
more favored by accident. In this event they forget 
how many have been less lucky than themselves ; so 
they squandered their little, because, as they say, they 
cannot save as much as others. Irritated at life, they 



i 






SUCCESS. 



247 





grow old prematurely. Dissatisfied with everything, 
they never permit themselves to be happy. Because 
they are not born at the top of the wheel of fortune, 
they refuse to take hold of the spoke as the latter 
comes around, but lie stubborn to the dirt, crying like 
spoiled children, neither doing anything themselves, 
nor permitting others to do it for them. 

Some men make a mistake in marrying. They do 
not in this matter begin right. Have they their for- 
tunes still to make ? Too often, instead of seeking 
one who would be a helpmate in the true sense of the 
term, they unite themselves to a giddy, improvident 
creature, with nothing to recommend her but the face 
of a doll and a few showy accomplishments. Such a 
wife, they discover too late, neither makes home 
happy nor helps to increase her husband's means. 
At first, thriftless, extravagant and careless, she 
gradually becomes cross and reproachful, and while 
she envies other women, and reproaches her husband 
because he cannot afford to maintain her like them, 
is really the principal cause of his ill-fortune. The 
selection of a proper companion is one of the most 
important concerns of life. A well-assorted marriage 
assists, instead of retarding, a man's prosperity. 
Select a sensible, agreeable, amiable woman, and you 
will have secured a prize "better than riches." If 
you do otherwise, then, alas for you ! 

Treat every one with respect and civility. " Every- 
thing Is gained, and nothing lost, by courtesy." 
"Good manners secure success." Never anticipate 
wealth from any other source than labor. "He who 









1 ' 







SUCCEbb. 



waits for dead men's shoes may have to ^o a long 
time barefoot." And above all, '' Nil desperandumj' 
for ''Heaven helps those who help themselves." If 
you implicitly follow these precepts, nothing- can 
hinder you from accumulating. Let the business of 
everybody else alone, and attend to your own ; don't 
buy what you don't want ; use every hour to advan- 
tage, and study to make even leisure hours useful ; 
think twice before you throw away a shilling; 
remember you will have another to make for it ; find 
recreation in your own business ; buy low, sell fair, 
and take care of the profits ; look over your books 
regularly, and, if you find an error, trace it out; 
should a stroke of misfortune come over your trade, 
retrench, work harder, but never fly the track ; con- 
front difficulties with unceasing perseverance, and 
they will disappear at last ; though you should fail in 
the struggle, you will be honored ; but shrink from 
the task and you will be despised. 

Engage in one kind of business only, and stick to 
it faithfully until you succeed, or until your experi- 
ence shows that you should abandon it. A constant 
hammering on one nail will generally drive it home 
at last, so that it can be clinched. When a man's 
undivided attention is centred on one object, his mind 
will constantly be suggesting improvements of value, 
which would escape him if his brain were occupied by 
a dozen different subjects at once. Many a fortune 
has slipped through a man's fingers because he was 
engaging in too many occupations at a time. There 
is good sense in the old caution against having too 
many irons in the fire at once. 











SUCCESS. 

''At thy first entrace upon thy estate," once said a 
wise man, ''keep low sail, that thou mayst rise with 
honor ; thou canst not decline without shame ; he that 
begins where his father ends, will end where his father 
began." 

Everywhere in human experience, as frequently in 
nature, hardship is the vestibule of the highest suc-!^' 
\cess. That m%nificent oak was detained t:Wenty: 
years in its upward growth while its roots took a great 
turn around a boulder by which the tree was anchored 
to withstand the storms of centuries. 

In our intercourse with the world a cautious cir- 
cumspection is of great advantage. Slowness of 
belief, and a proper distrust, are essential to success. 
The credulous and confiding are ever the dupes of 
knaves and impostors. Ask those who have lost 
^-^heir property how it happened, and you will find in 

"most cases it has been owing to mrsplaeed confidenceV^^S''-^ 
One has lost by indorsing; another by crediting; ||\| 
another by false representations ; all of which a little :^^ 
more foresight 'and a little more distrust would have \ ' v^ 
prevented. In the affairs of this world men are not 
saved by faith, but by the want of it. M'j 

They who are eminently successful in business, or ^| 
who achieve greatness, or even notoriety in any pur- |}| 

suit, must expect to make enemies. Whoever be- Cf/^ 
comes distinguished is sure to be a mark for the \ ^k^ 
malicious spite of those who, not deserving success ^^',v.. 

themselves, are galled by the merited triumph of the iW 
more worthy. Moreover, the opposition which orig- 
inates in such despicable motives, is sure to be of the 



,^J3^^ 





I 




most unscrupulous character ; hesitating- at no iniquity, 
descending to the shabbiest littleness. Opposition, 
if it be honest and manly, is not in itself undesirable. 
It is the whetstone by which a highly tempered nature 
is polished and sharpened. He that has never known 
adversity, is but half acquainted with others or with 
himself Constant success shows us but one side of 
the world. For, as it surrounds us with friends, who 
will tell us only our merits, so it silences those ene- 
mies from whom alone we can learn our defects. 



f^" 



Our success in life generally bears a direct pro- 
portion to the exertions we make, and if we aim at 
nothing \yq shall certainly achieve nothing. By the 
remission of labor and energy, it often happens that 
poverty and contempt, disaster and defeat, steal a 
march upon prosperity and honor, and overwhelm us 
with reverses and shame. 

A very important principle in the business of 
money-getting, is industry — persevering, indefatiga- 
ble attention to business. Persevering diligence is 
the philosopher's stone, which turns everything to 
gold. Constant, regular, habitual, and systematic 
application to business, must, in time, if properly 
directed, produce great results. It must lead to 
wealth, with the same certainty that poverty follows 
in the train of idleness and inattention. 



{^: 



if: 



\s. 



INDUSTRY. 



251 



f^. 



'n 



h 




'X^ 



It has been said that the best cure for hard times 
is to cheat the doctor by being temperate ; the lawyer, 
by keeping- out of debt ; the demagogue, by voting 
for honest men ; and poverty, by being industrious. 

To industry, guided by reasonable intelligence and 
economy, every people can look with certainty as an 
unfailing source of temporal prosperity. Whatever 
is useful or beautiful in art, science or other human 
attainment, has come from industry. In the humblest 
pursuits, industry may be accompanied by the noblest 
intelligence, so that respect, place and power are 
open to its humblest honest practicer. Let no man 
spurn industry as his temporal shield ; it is the safest 
and surest he can buckle to his arm, and with it he 
may defy the want and poverty which, more than 
everything else, destroy the independence of man. 

Honorable industry always travels the same road> 
with enjoyment and duty ; and progress is altogether 
impossible without it. The idle pass through life 
leaving as little trace of their existence as foam upon 
the water, or smoke upon the air ; whereas the indus- 
trious stamp their character upon their age, and influ- 
ence not only their own but all succeeding generations. 
Labor is the best test of the energies of men, and 
furnishes an admirable training for practical wisdom. 

Practical industry, wisely and vigorously applied, 
never fails of success. It carries a man onward and 
upward, brings out his individual character, and 
powerfully stimulates the action of others. All may 
not rise equally, yet each, on the whole, very much 
according to his deserts. ''Though all cannotlive 




^'.A 






#( 




on the piazza," as the Tuscan proverb has it, ''every 
one may feel the sun." 

Industry is the heir of fortune ; the companion of 
honesty and honor; the beauteous sister of temper- 
ance, health and ease — ^one of the noble virtues 
which links with perfection. 

Industry has a physical blessing-; limbs strength- 
ened by exercise, and sinews braced by exertion ; 
every organ performing its legitimate duty, and kept 
in its appointed office ; the blood circulated by motion, 
and the joints pliant from use ; disease repelled by 
internal vigor ; appetite created by the calls of 
increasing strength ; rest rendered welcome by pre- 
vious labor; sleep become acceptable after busy 
working. The habit, free from the petty ailments 
entailed by sluggishness, no longer falls a prey to 
peevishness and irritation, and time employed, not 
wasted In murmurs and discontent. The temper, less 
tried by bodily infirmity and secret upbraldings, 
acquires equanimity. The spirits, unharrassed by 
petty pains and plagues, rise to cheerfulness. The 
faculties, unimpaired by disease, unblunted by disuse, 
more vigorously expand. The vv^hole man, active, 
useful, and happy, is enabled to resist the approaches 
of infirmity, sickness, and sorrow ; to enjoy a vigorous 
old age, and to drop after a brief struggle his mortal 
frame, to soar with Improved powers Into a state of 
improved being. While in idleness, the disordered 
frame, gradually sickening, oppresses the vital pow- 
ers. The mind, weakened and stupefied, Imbibes 
wild or gloomy ideas ; the better faculties are crushed 




e: 



l^ 








and curbed, and the whole man at last sinks beneath 
the undermining- mischiefs of insidious sloth. 

Is this a wretched picture ? Whilst we feel that 
though it is so, it is also a true one, let us gratefully 
remember, that such a state is not inevitable, but that 
it is one incurred from choice, and produced by volun- 
tary permission. Reverse the picture, extirpate sloth, 
and in its place introduc-e activity, and how mighty is 
the difference? The wand of Harlequin could never 
produce a more striking change. 

In vain has nature thrown obstacles and impedi- 
ments in the way of man. He surmounts every diffi- 
culty interposed between his energy and his enterprise. 
Over seas and mountains his course is unchecked ; 
he directs the lightning's wings, and almost annihi- 
lates space and time. Oceans, rivers, and deserts 
^re explored ; hills are leveled, ani the rugged places 
made smooth. "On the hardest adamant' some fobt^ 
print of us is stamped in." The soil teems with 
fertility, and under the cunning and diligent hand of 
his taste and skill, the whole earth is beautified and 
improved. 

The stimulus of a painful necessity urges man to 
ceaseless effort, and the world is filled with monu- 
ments and memorials of his industry, his zeal, his 
patient labor, his masterly spirit, and his indomitable 
perseverance. 

" All is the gift of industry : whate'er 
Exalts, embellishes, and renders life 
Delightful." 



M 








264 



HONESTY 



The first step toward greatness Is to be honest, 
says the proverb ; but the proverb fails to state the 
case strong enough. Honesty is not only the first 
step toward greatness — it is greatness itself. 

It is with honesty in one particular as with wealth ; 
those that have the thing care less about the credit of 
it than those that have it not. What passes as open- 
/aced honesty is often masked malignity. He who 
salth there is no such thing as an honest man, you 
may be sure is himself a knave. When any one 
complains, as Diogenes did, that he has to hunt the 
street with candles at noon-day to find an honest 
man, we are apt to think that his nearest neighbor 
would have quite as much difficulty as himself in 
making the discovery. If you think there isn't an 
honest man living, you had better, for appearance 
sake, put off saying it until you are dead yourself. 
Honesty is the best policy, but those who do honest 
things merely because they think it good policy, are 
not honest. No man has ever been too honest. 
Cicero believed that nothing is useful that is not 
honest. He that walketh uprightly, walketh surely ; 
but he that perverteth his ways shall be known. 
There is an alchemy in a high heart which transmutes 
other things to its own quality. 

The truth of the good old maxim, that ''Honesty 
is the best policy," is upheld by the daily experience 



fllj 



HONESTY 



255 



'n 






fc 



of life ; uprightness and integrity being found as 
successful in business as in everything else. As 
Hugh Miller's worthy uncle used to advise him, 
''In all your dealings give your neighbor the cast 
of the bank — 'good measure, heaped up, and 
running over' — and you will not lose by it in the 
end." 

Honesty Is the best policy. But no man can be 
upright, amid the various temptations of life, unless 
he is honest for the riofht's sake. You should not be 
honest from the low motive of policy, but because 
you feel the better for being honest. The latter will 
hold you fast, let the element set as it will, let storms 
blow ever so fiercely ; the former is but a cable of 
pack-thread, which will snap apart. In the long 
run, character is better than capital. Most of the 
great American merchants, whose revenues out- 
rank those of princes, owe their colossal fortunes 
principally to a character for integrity and ability. 
Lay the foundations of a character broad and 
deep. Build them on a rock, and not on sand. The 
rains may then descend, the floods rise and the winds 
blow, but your house will stand. But, establish a 
character for loose dealings, and lo ! some great tem- 
pest will sweep it away. 

The religious tradesman complains that his hon- 
esty is a hindrance to his success ; that the tide of 
custom pours into the doors of his less scrupulous 
neighbors in the same street, while he himself waits for 
hours idle. My brother, do you think that God is 
going to reward honor, integrity and high-mindedness 










11 



HONESTY. 



with this world's coin ? Do you fancy that he will 
pay spiritual excellence with plenty of custom ? Now 
consider the price that man has paid for his success 
—perhaps mental degradation and inward dishonor. 
His advertisements are all deceptive ; his treatment 
of his w^orkmen tyrannical; his cheap prices made 
possible by inferior articles. Sow that man's seed, 
and you will reap that man's harvest. Cheat, lie, 
advertise, be unscrupulous in your assertions, custom 
will come to you ; but if the price is too dear, let him 
have his harvest, and take yours. Yours is a clear 
conscience, a pure mind, rectitude within and without 
Will you part with that for his ? Then why do you 
complain ? He has paid his price ; you do not choose 
to pay it. 

Some, in their passion for sudden accumulation, 
practice secret frauds, and imagine there is no harm 
in it, so they be not detected. But in vain will they 
cover up their transgressions ; for God sees it to the 
bottom ; and let them not hope to keep it always from 
man. The birds of the air sometimes carry the tale 
abroad. In the long web of events, ''be sure youi 
sin will find you out." He who is carrying on a 
course of latent corruption and dishonesty, be he 
president of some mammoth corporation, or engaged 
only in private transactions, is sailing in a ship like 
that fabled one of old, which ever comes nearer and 
nearer to a magnetic mountain, that will at last draw 
every nail out of it. All faith in God, and all trust 
in man will eventually be lost, and he will get no 
reward for his guilt. The very winds will sigh forth 







1 








r^ 



M- 





iiUJNESl Y 



his iniquity; and "a beam will come out of the wall," 
and convict and smite him. 

Strict honesty is the crown of one's early days. 
''Your son will not do for me," was once said to a 
frierid of mine; **he took pains, the other day, to tell 
/a '^storoer of a small blemish in a piece of goods/* /^, 
The salesboy is sometimes virtually taught to deGlafei|^/j 
that goods cost sucTi or • such a sum ; that they are 
strong, fashionable, perfect, when the whole story is 
false. So is the bloom of a God-inspired truthfulness 
not seldom brushed from the cheek of our simple- 
hearted children. 

We hope and trust these cases are rare ; but even 
one such house as we allude to, may ruin the integrity ^ fi 
and the fair fame of many a lad. God grant our 
^^oung men to feel that ''an honest man is the noblesl^v 
work of God," and, under all temptatiptts, to live rSj^^ 
they feel. 

The possession of the principle of honesty is a 
matter known most intimately to the m.an and his God, 
and fully, only to the latter. No man knows the 
extent and strength of his own honesty, until he has 
passed the fiery ordeal of temptation. Men shudder 
at the dishonesty of others, at one time in life ; then, 
sailing before the favorable wind of prosperity, when 
adversity overtakes them, their honesty too often flies 
away on the same wings with their riches ; and, what 
they once viewed with holy horror, they now practice 
with shameless impunity. Others, at the commence- 
ment of a prosperous career, are quite above any 
tricks in trade ; but their love of money increases 
with their wealth. A0f>^^»^p^^^ relaxes, they becom 



'A 



n.'N^ 





258 



JIONESTY. 



hard honest men, then hardly honest, and are, finally, 
confirmed in dishonesty. 

On the great day of account, it will be found, that 
men have erred more in judging of the honesty of 
others than in any one thing else ; not even religion 
excepted. Many who have been condemned, and had 
the stigma of dishonesty fixed upon them, because 
misfortune disabled them from paying their just debts, 
will stand acquitted by the Judge of quick and dead, 
whilst others cover dishonest hearts and actions, 
undetected by man. 

It is our earnest desire to eradicate the impression, 
so fatal to many a young man, that one cannot live 
by being perfectly honest. You must have known 
men who have gone on for years in unbroken pros- 
perity and yet never adopted that base motto, **A11 
is fair in trade." You must have seen, too, noble 
examples of those who have met with losses and 
failures, and yet risen from them all with a conscious 
integrity, and who have been sustained by the testi- 
mony of all around them, that, though unfortunate, 
they were never dishonest. When we set before you 
such examples, when we show you, not only that 
"honesty is the best policy," but that it is the very 
keystone of the whole arch of manly and Christian 
qualities, it cannot be that every ing^^tiuous heart 
does not respond to the appeal. Hea ^n grant al! 
such to feel that *'an honest man is the aoblest work 
God," and to live as they feel. 




if 



CHARACTER. 



2d» 









A 



/ 



( 



There Is a structure which every body is building, 
young and old, each one for himself. It is called 
character^ and every act of life is a stone. If day 
by day we be careful to build our lives with pure, 
t rioble-, upright deeds, at the end will stand a fair 
' temple, honored by God and man. But, as one leak 
will sink a ship, and one flaw break a chain, so one 
mean, dishonorable, untruthful act or word will for- 
ever leave its impress and work its influence on our 
characters. Then, let the several deeds unite to form 
a day, and one by one the days grow into noble years, 
and the years, as they slowly pass, will raise at last a 
beautiful edifice, enduring forever to our praise. .^„^ 
^/O^^ There are as many master-workmen in you af-^ 
^ there are separate faculties ; and there are as many 
blows struck as there are separate acts of emotion 
or volition. Every single day these myriad forces 
are building, building, building. Here is a great 
structure going up, point by point, story by story, 
although you are not conscious of It. It is a building 
of character. It is a building that must stand, and 
the word of inspiration warns you to take heed how 
you build it ; to see to it that you have a foundation 
that shall endure ; to make sure that you are building 
on It, not for the hour In which you live, but for that 
hour of revelation, when you shall be seen just as 
you are. 

Our minds are given us, but our characters we 



•;.^ 






make. Our mental powers must be cultivated. The 
full measure of all the powers necessary to make a 
man are no more a character than a handful of seeds 
is an orchard of fruits. Plant the seeds and tend 
them well, and they will make an orchard. Cultivate 
the powers and harmonize them well, and they will 
make a noble character. The germ is not the tree, 
the acorn is not the oak, neither is the mind a 
character. God gives the mind, man makes the char- 
acter. • The mind is the garden ; the character is the 
fruit ; the mind is the white page ; the character is the 
writing we put on it. The mind is the metallic plate ; 
the character is our engraving thereon. The mind is 
the shop, the counting-room ; the character is our 
profits on the trade. Large profits are made from 
quick sales and small per centage. So great charac- 
ters are made by many little acts and efforts. A 
dollar is composed of a thousand mills ; so Is a char- 
acter of a thousand thoughts and acts. The secret 
thoughts never expressed, the inward Indulgences In 
imaginary wrong; the lie never told for want of 
courage, the licentiousness never indulged In from 
fear of public rebuke, the irreverence of the heart, 
are just as effectual in staining the character as though 
the world knew all about them. A subtle thing Is a 
character; and a constant work Is Its formation. 
Whether it be good or bad, it has been long in 
its growth, and is the aggregate of millions of little 
mental acts. A good character is a precious thing, 
above rubies, gold, crowns, or kingdoms, and the 
work of making it is the noblest labor on earth. 







Character Is formed by a course of actions, and 
not actions by character. A person can have no 
character before he has had actions. Though an 
action be ever so glorious in itself, it ought not to 
pass for great, if it be not the effect of wisdom and 
good design. Great actions carry their glory with 




s|< 



.€m as 



the ruby wears its colors. Whatever b^ 
^.y6ur condition ^OT^ calling in life, keep in view th#' 
whole of your existence. Act not for the little span 
of time allotted you in this world, but act for eternity. 
Characters formed by circumstances are much like 
machine poetry. They will do for the sport of mirth, 
and the torment of the senses of the beautiful. But 
they are horrible things. It makes angels weep to 
look at them. They are the picture of old chaos, a 
mass of confusion. A thousand winds have blown 
(-~^^y^<^a; together the materials of which they are^mad^ 
- ^L They usually lack order, harmony, constSt^ffcy, 
-^Ji;^ beauty, the very elements and essentials of a good 
character. They are those aimless nuisances that 
live for nothing, and molder, and become putrid, 
about the sewers of the world. If aught on earth is 
despicable, it is these porous masses of conglomerated 
filth and scum that float on the surface of society, 
driven or attracted by every speck of circumstance 
about them. They are purposeless, powerless, ener- 
vated automatons, playing second fiddle to chance. 
One brave will to resist evil and hold fast to good, is 
worth a million of them. One stout soul, with a reso- 
lute determination to make its own character, after the 
partem of its own high-wrought ideal, that, Jackson- 




1 




-^1 












262 



like, takes the responsibility of being what suits its 
well-formed judgment, is of more real significance 
than an army of them. It will stand against them, 
and defy their power. 

Every man is bound to aim at the possession of a 
good character, as one of the highest objects of his 
life. The very effort to secure it by worthy means 
will furnish him with a motive for exertion ; and his 
idea of manhood, in proportion as it is elevated, will 
steady and animate his motive. It is well to have a 
high standard of life, even though we may not be 
able altogether to realize it. ''The 3/outh," says 
Disraeli, ''who does not look up will look down; and 
the spirit that does not soar is destined, perhaps, to 
grovel." He who has a high standard of living and 
thinking will certainly do better than he who has none 
at all. We would have young men, as they start in 
life, regard character as a capital, much surer to y\eld 
full returns than any other capital, unaffected by 
panics and failures, fruitful when all other investn^ents 
lie dormant, having as certain promise in the present 
life as in that which is to come. Character is like 
stock in trade ; the more of it a man possesses, the 
greater his facilities for adding to it Character is 
power, is influence: it makes friends, eremites funds, 
draws patronage and support, and opeixs a sure and 
easy way to wealth, honor and happiness. 

Trifles discover a character more than actions of 
importance. In regard to the former, a person is off 
his guards and thinks it not material to use disguise. 
It is no imperfect hint toward the discovery of a man's 



I 



character to say he looks as though you might be 
certain of finding a pin upon his sleeve. Truthful- 
ness is a corner-stone in character, and if it is not 
firmly laid in youth, there will be ever after a weak 
spot in the foundation. 

Sum it up then as we will, character is the great 
desideratum of human life. This truth, sublime in 
it^ simplicity and powerful in its beauty, is the high- 
est lesson of religion, the first that youth should learn, 
the last that age should forget. 

The value of character is the standard of human 
progress. The individual, the community, the nation 
tells its standing, its advancement, its worth, its true 
wealth and glory in the eye of God by its estimation 
of character. That man or nation who or which 
lightly esteems character, is low, groveling and bar- 
^^arous. Wherever character is made a secondafy 
'object, sensualism and crime prevail. He who wou] 
prostitute character to reputation is baseT He who 
lives for anything less than character Is mean. He 
who enters upon any study, pursuit, amusement, 
pleasure, habit, or course of life, without considering 
its effect upon his character, is not a trusty or an 
honest man. He whose modes of thought, states of 
feeling, every-day acts, common language, and whole 
outward life, are not directed by a wise reference to 
their influence upon his character, is a man always to 
be watched. Just as a man prizes his character, so 
is he. This is the true standard of a man. 






1 




M^mttfU aw 

We often judge unwisely. We approve or con- 
demn men by their actions. But it so happens that 
many a man whom we condemn, God approves ; and 
many a one whom we approve, God condemns. Here 
below it often happens that we have saints in prisons 
and devils in priestly robes. We often view things 
under a false sight, and pass our judgments accord- 
ingly; but God judges from behind the veil, where 
motives reveal themselves like lightnings on a cloud. 

Now, right and might lie in motive. Personally 
they answer the question, ''Ought I ?" and **Can I ?"' 
Some men ask, ''Ought I do this?" Others ask, 
"Can I do this?" It is the angel that asks, "Ought 
I to do this?" It is the devil that asks, "Can I do 
this?" 

We all have good and bad in us. The good would 
do what it ought to do ; the bad does what it can do. 
The good dwells in the kingdom of right ; the bad 
sits on the throne of might. Right is a loyal subject ; 
might is a royal tyrant. Right is the foundation of 
the river of peace ; might is the mother of war and 
its abominations. Right is the evangel of God that 
proclaims the "acceptable year of the Lord;" might 
is the scourge of the world that riots in carnage, 
groans and blood. Right is the arm of freedom 
made bare and beautiful in the eyes of all the good 
in heaven and earth ; might is the sword of power 
unsheathed in the hand of oppression. Right gains 





::-■) 





its victories by peace ; might conquers only by war. 
Right strengthens its army by the increase of all its 



/^Ijit conquered; might weakens its force by every victory, 
K-h^d- ^^ ^ P^^^ ^^ ^^^ power must stand guard over its new- 
^Sp\^i made subjects. Right rules by invitation ; might by 
n) compulsion. Right is from above ; might from below ; 
/Right is unselfish ; might knows nothing but selt^ 
^.. Kight is for the, whole ; might is for one. Right isl 
unassuming; might is pompous as a king. Right 
is instructive ; might is dictatorial. Right reasons like 
a philosopher, and prepares the ground on which it 
sows ; might stalks on like rnadness, reckless of 
everything but the end sought. Right is *a lamb, 
cropping buds and flowers to make itself more beau- 
tiful ; might is a tiger prowling in search of prey. 
Right is a moralist resting in principle ; might is a 
r^,^^. ^ wprldling seeking for pleasure. These areJnward^v^ ^> 
\^) >f^' ^principles contending with each oth^ia-^i^e^tiumalT^I^'-^ 
soul.. 

There are men, and their number is not small, who 
make principle and right depend on policy. They 
are honest when they think it policy to be honest. 
They smile when it is policy, though they design to 
stab the next minute. Men of policy are honest 
when it is convenient and plainly profitable. When 
honesty costs nothing and will pay well, they are 
honest ; but when policy will pay best, they give 
honesty the slip at once. When they think honesty 
is the best policy they are most conscientiously hon- 
est ; but when policy will, in their judgment, serve 
them a better turn, their consciences change faces 







i 



.'^x- 




266 



PRINCIPLE AND RIGHT. 



very quickly. Principle, right and honesty are always, 
and everywhere, and eternally best. It is hard to 
make honesty and policy work together in the same 
mind. When one is out, the other is in. Honesty 
will not stay where policy is permitted to visit. They 
do not think or act alike, and never can be made to 
agree. They have nothing in common. One is the 
prophet of God, the other of Baal. 

There are men who choose honesty as a soul com- 
panion. They live in it, and with it, and by it, They 
embody it in their actions and lives. Their words 
speak it. Their faces beam it. Their actions pro- 
claim it. Their hands are true to it. Their feet 
tread its path. They are full of it. They love it. It 
is to them like a God. They believe it is of God. 
With religious awe they obey its behests. Not gold, 
or crowns, or fame, could bribe them to leave it. 
They are wedded to it from choice. It is their first 
love. It makes them beautiful men ; yea, more, noble 
men, great, brave, righteous men. When God looks 
about for his jewels, these are the men his eye rests 
on, well pleased. He keeps his angels employed in 
making crowns for them, and they make crowns for 
themselves too ! Crowns of honesty ! To some 
men they seem not very beautiful in the dim light of 
earth ; but when the radiance of heaven is opened 
upon them, they will reflect it in gorgeous splendor. 
Nothing is brighter ; nothing is better ; nothing is 
worth more, or more substantial. Honesty, peerless 
queen of principles ! how her smile enhaloes the 
men who love her ! How ready they are to suffer 



/ \'l 



VALUE OF REPUTATION. 



267 



for her, to die for her ! They are the martyrs. See 
them ! What a multitude ! Some at the stake ; some 
in stocks ; some in prison ; some before judges as 
criminals ; some on gibbets, and some on the cross. 
But they are all sustained. They smile on their 
foes. They have peace within. They are strong 
and brave in heart. Their souls are dauntless as the 
i4:4?ld sun. 




"^ 



Who shall estimate the cost of a priceless reputa- 
tion — that impress which gives this human dross its 
currency — without which we stand despised, debased, 

^predated? Who shall repair it injured? ■^Wh 
can redeem it lost? Oh, well and trul^does the 
great philosopher of poetry esteem the world's 
wealth as ''trash" in the comparison. Without it, 
gold has no value ; birth, no distinction ; station, no 
dignity; beauty, no charm; age, no reverence; with- 
out it every treasure impoverishes, every grace 
deforms, every dignity degrades, and all the arts, the 
decorations, and accomplishments of life stand, like 
the beacon-blaze upon a rock, warning the world that 
its approach is dangerous ; that its contact is death. 

The wretch without it is under eternal quarantine ; 
no friend to greet ; no home to harbor him. The 
voyage of his life becomes a joyless peril ; and in the 
midst of all ambition can achieve, or avarice amass, 






268 



VALUE OF REPUTATION. 



^ 



(,>^ 




or rapacity plunder, he tossed on the surge, a buoyant 
pestilence. But let me not degrade into selfishness 
of individual safety or individual exposure this indi- 
vidual principle; it testifies a higher, a more enno 
bling origin. 

It is this which, consecrating the humble circle of 
the hearth, will at times extend itself to the circum- 
ference of the horizon; which nerves the arm of the 
patriot to save his country; which lights the lamp of 
the philosopher to amend man; which," if it does not 
inspire, will yet invigorate the martyr to merit 
immortality; which, when one world's agony is passed, 
and the glory of another is dawning, will prompt the 
prophet, even in his chariot of fire, and in his vision 
of Heaven, to bequeath to mankind the mantle of his 
memory ! 

Oh, divine! oh, delightful legacy of a spotless 
reputation! Rich is the inheritance it leaves; pious 
the example it testifies; pure, precious, and imperish- 
able, the hope which it inspires ! Can there be 
conceived a more atrocious injury than to filch from 
its possessor this inestimable benefit — to rob society 
of its charm, and solitude of its solace; not only to 
out-law life, but to attaint death, converting the very 
grave, the refuge of the sufferer, into the gate of 
infamy and of shame. 

We can conceive few crimes beyond it. He who 
plunders one's property takes from him that which 
can be repaired by time; but what period can repair 
a ruined reputation.^ He who maims one,s person, 
affects that which medicine may remedy; but what 



'X 



A 





269 



herb has soverei^^nty over the wounds of slander? 
He who ridicules one's poverty, or reproaches one's 
profession, upbraids him with that which industry may 
retrieve, and integrity may purify ; but what riches 
shaH redeem the bankrupt fame ? What power shall 
rblanch the sullied snow of character? There can be 
no injury more deadly. There can be no crime mdx^^ 
^cruel. It is without remedy. It is without antidote. 
It is without evasion. 

'it 

The reptile, calumny, is ever on the watch. From 
the fascinations of its eye no activity can escape ; 
from the venom of its fang no sanity can recover. It 
has no enjoyment but crime ; it has no prey but vir- 
tue ; it has no interval from the restlessness of its 
malice, save when, bloated with its victims, it grovels 
to disgorge them at the withered shrine where envy 



m 



fi 



idolizes her own infirmities. 






-M 



■H^- 





Though fame is smoke, 
Its fumes are frankincense to human thoughts. 



Byron. 



fl 



Fame, like money, should neither be despised nor 
idolized. An honest fame, based on worth and 
merit, and gained, like large estates, by prudence and 
industry, deservedly perpetutates the names of the 
great and good. 

No glory or fame is both consolatory and enduring 



m 



-? 




M\ 



unless based on virtue, wisdom, and justice. That 
acquired by wild ambition, is tarnished by associa- 
tion — time deepens the stain. We read the biogra- 
phy of Washington with calmness and delight; that 
of Bonaparte with mingled feelings of admiration 
and abhorrence. We admire the gigantic powers of 
his intellect, the vastness of his designs, the boldness 
of their execution ; but turn, with horror, from the 
slaughter-fields of his ambition, and his own dreadful 
end. His giddy height of power served to plunge 
him deeper in misery ; his lofty ambition increased 
the burning tortures of his exile ; his towering intel- 
lect added a duplicate force to the consuming pangs 
of his disappointment. His fatal end should cool the 
ardor of all who have an inordinate desire for earthly 
glory. 

The praises and commendations of intimates and 
friends, are the greatest and most impassable obstacles 
to real superiority. Better were it, that they should 
whip us with cords and drive us to work, than that 
they should extol and exaggerate our chiMish scintil- 
lations and puerile achievements. 

False fame is the rushlight which we, or our 
attendants, kindle in our apartments. We witness its 
feeble burning, and its gradual but certain decline. 
It glimmers for a little while, w^hen, with flickering 
and palpitating radiance, it soon expires. 

Egotism and vanity detract from fame as ostenta- 
tion diminishes the merit of an action. He that is 
vain enough to cry up himself, ought to be punished 
with the silence of others. We soil the splendor of 




m 



i 




FAME. 



271 



our most beautiful actions by our vainglorious mag- 
nifying them. There is no vice or folly that requires 
so much nicety and skill to manage as fame, nor any 
which, by ill management, makes so contemptible a 
figure. The desire of being thought famous is often 
a hindrance to being so ; for such an one is more soli- 
citous to let the world see what knowledge he hath 
than to learn that which he wants. Men are found 
to |>e vainer on account of those qualities which they 
fondly believe they have, than of those which they 
really have. Some would be thought to do great 
things, who are but tools or instruments ; like the fool 
who fancied he played upon the organ, when he only 
drew the bellows. 

Be not so greedy of popular applause as to forget 
that the same breath which blows up a fire may blow 

out again. True fame is the light ofheav^h: ' 
Cometh from afar. It shines powerfully an^ brightly, 
but not always without clouds and shadows, which 
interpose, but do not destroy ; eclipse, but do not 
extinguish. Like the glorious sun, it will continue to 
diffuse its beams when we are no more ; for other eyes 
will hail the light, when we are withdrawn from it. 

Great and decided talent is a tower of strength 
which cannot be subverted. Envy, detraction, and 
persecution are missiles hurled against it only to fall 
harmless at its base, and to strengthen what they 
cannot overthrow. It seeks not the applause of the 
present moment, in which folly or mediocrity often 
secure the preference ; but it extends its bright and 
prophetic vision through the ''dark obscure" of dis- 








m 




tant time, and bequeaths to remote generations the 
vindication of its honor and fame, and the clear com- 
prehension of its truths. 

No virtues and learning- are inherited, but rather 
ignorance and misdirected inclinations ; and assiduous 
and persevering labor must correct these defects, and 
make a fruitful garden of that soil which is naturally 
encumbered with stones and thistles. All home-tri- 
umphs and initiatory efforts are nothing worth. That 
which is great, commanding, and lasting, must be won 
by stubborn energy, by patient industry, by unwearied 
application, and by indefatigable zeal. We must lie 
down and groan, and get up and toil. It is a long 
race, not a pleasant walk, and the prize is not a leaf 
or a bauble, but a chaplet or a crown. The specta- 
tors are not friends, but foes ; and the contest is one 
in which thousands fall through weakness and want 
of real force and courage. 

We may add virtue to virtue, strength to strength, 
and knowledge to knowledge, and yet fail, and soon 
be lost and forgotten in that mighty and soul-testing 
struggle, in which few come off conquerors and win 
an induring and imperishable name. If we embark 
on this course, we shall need stout hearts conjoined 
with invincible minds. We must bid adieu to vice, 
to sloth, to flatteries and ease, 

'And scorn delights and live laborious days." 







H© 



-^Hj-^ 



AMBITION. 









273 



by 




-. ■' -\=>?', 


op'): 



VA 






He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find 
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow ; 
He who surpasses or subdues manki-nd, 
Must look down on the hate of those below. 

— Byron. 



Some conceited wights, who study party poHtics 
more than philosophy or ethics, call all the laudable 
desires of the human heart ambition, aiming to strip 
the monster of its deformity, that they may use it as 
the livery of heaven to serve the devil in. The 
former are based on philanthropy, the latter on self- 
ishness. Lexicographers define ambition to be an 
earnest desire of power, honor, preferment, pride. 
The honor that is awarded to power is of doubtful 
grandeur, and the power that is acquired by ambition 
is held by a slender tenure, a mere rope of sand. Its 
hero often receives the applause of the multitude one 
day, and its execrations the next. The summit of 
vain ambition is often the depth of misery. Based 
on a sandy foundation, it falls before the blasts of 
envy, and the tornado of faction. It is inflated by a 
gaseous thirst for power, like a balloon with hydrogen, 
and is in constant danger of being exploded by the 
very element that causes its elevation. It eschews 
charity, and deals largely in the corrosive sublimate 
of falsehood. Like the kite, it cannot rise in a calm, 
and requires a constant wind to preserve its upward 







^:i: 



^ 





irf 






^ii 



M 



274 AMBITION. 



course. The fulcrum of loiiorance, and tlie lever ol 
party spirit, form its magic power. An astute writer 
has well observed, that "ambition makes the same 
mistake concerning power, that avarice makes relative 
to wealth." The ambitious man begins by accumu- 
lating it as the desideratum of happiness, and ends' 
his career in the midst of exertions to obtain more. 
So ended the onward and upward career of Napoleon; 
his life a modern wonder ; his fate a fearful warning ; 
his death a scene of gloom. Power is gained as a 
means of enjoyment, but oftener than otherwise, is 
'Ui its fell destroyer. Like the viper in the fable, it is 

prone to sting those who warm it into life. History 
fully demonstrates these propositions. Hyder All 
was in the habit of starting frightfully in his sleep. 
His confidential friend and attendant asked the reason. 
He replied : " My friend, the state of a beggar is more 
delightful than my envied monarchy — awake, he sees 
no conspirators — asleep, he dreams of no assassins." 
Ambition, like the gold of the miser, is the sepulchre 
of the other passions of the man. It is the grand 
centre around which they move with centripetal force. 
Its history is one of carnage and blood ; it Is the. bane 
of substantial good ; it endangers body and soul for 
time and eternity. Reader, if you desire peace of 
mind, shun ambition and the ambitious man. He 
Avill use you as some men do their horses, ride you 
all day without food, and give you post meat for sup- 
per. He will gladly make a bridge of you on which 
to walk into power, provided he can pass toll free. 
Let your aim be more lofty than the highest pinnacle 




A \' A RICK. 



ambition can rear. Nothing is pure but heaven, l-;t 
that be the prize you seek, 

"And taste and prove in that transporting sight, 
Joy without sorrow, without darkness — light." 

The road ambition travels is too narrow for friend- 
ship, too crooked for love, too rugged for honesty, 
too dark for science, and too hilly for happiness. 



-^=i'i^:-> 




"^i^"^^ 



f 



''^'^: 



A judicious writer has well remarked, that avarice 
is. the father of more children than Priam, and, like 
him, survives them all. It is a paradoxical propen- 
sity, a species of heterogeneous insanity. The miser 
starves himself, knowing that those who wish him- 
dead will fatten on his hoarded gains. He submits 
to more torture to lose heaven than the martyr does 
to gain it. He serves the worst of tyrannical masters 
more faithfully than most Christians do the best, 
whose yoke is easy and burden light. He worships 
this world, but repudiates all its pleasures. He 
endures all the miseries of poverty through life, that 
he may die in the midst of wealth. He is the mere 
turnkey of his own riches — a poorly-fed and badly- 
clothed slave ; a draught-horse without bells or feath- 
ers ; a man condemmed to work in mines, which is 
the low^est and hardest condition of servitude ; and, 
to increase his misery, a worker there for he knows 






276 



zVVARlCE. 



7 

1/ 



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not whom. ''He heapeth up riches and knoweth not 
who shall enjoy them." It is only sure that he 
himself neither shall nor can enjoy them. He is an 
indigent, needy slave ; he will hardly allow himself 
clothes and board wages. He defrauds not only 
other men, but his own genius ; he cheats himself 
for money. He lives as if the world were made alto- 
gether for him, and not he for the world ; to take in 
everything and to part with nothing. Charity is 
accounted no grace with him, and gratitude no virtue. 
The cries of the poor never enter his ears, or if they 
do, he has always one ear readier to let them out than 
to take them in. In a word, by his rapines and 
extortions he is always for making as many poor as 
he can, but for relieving none whom he either finds 
or makes so. So that it is a question whether his 
heart be harder than his fist is close. In a word, he 
is a pest and a monster ; greedier than the sea and 
barrener than the shore. He is the cocoon of the 
human race — death ends his toils and others reel off 
the glossy product of his labors. He is the father of 
more miseries than the prodigal — whilst he lives he 
heaps them on himself and those around him. He 
is his own and the poor man's enemy. 

The avarice of the miser may be termed the grand 
sepulchre of all his other passions, as they succes- 
sively decay. But, unlike other tombs, it is enlarged 
by repletion and strengthened by age. His mind is 
never expanded beyond the circumference of the 
almighty dollar. He thinks not of his immortal soul, 
his accountability to God, or of his final destiny. He 




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covets the wealth of others, revels in extortion, stops 
at nothin^^ to gratify his ruHng passion that will not 
endanger his dear idol. He is an Ishmael in commu- 
nity — he passes to the grave without tasting the 
sweets of friendship, the delights of social intercourse, 
or the comforts of a good repast, unless the latter is 
got by invitation, when abro d. The first voluntary 
expenditure upo^lJiis body during his manhood, and 
the first welcome visit of his neighbors, both passive 
on hl^ part, are at his funeral. 

If we would enjoy the comforts of life rationally, we 
must avoid the miseries of avarice and the evils of 
prodigality. Let us use the provisions of our bene- 
volent Benefactor without abusing them, and render 
to Him that gratitude which is His due. Banish all 
inordinate desires after wealth — if you gain an 
--^abundance, be discreetly liberal, judiciously benevo^ 
lent, and, if your children have arrlved'attheir major-^ 
ity, die your own executor. 

♦«*-'i'4>-il>-|f4|-'i'-^lt-»ov— — 



iitg. 



Every device that suddenly changes money or 
property from one person to another without a quid 
pro q2w, or leaving an equivalent, produces individual 
embarrassment — often extreme misery. More per- 
nicious Is that plan, If It changes property and money 
from the hands of the many to the few. 



m 









i^^st 





'::m 



278 



GAMBLING 




Gambling does this, and often inflicts a still greater 
injury, by poisoning its victims with vice, that event- 
ually lead to crimes of the darkest hue. Usually, the 
money basely filched from its victims, is the smallest 
part of the injury inflicted. It almost inevitably leads 
to intemperance. Every species of offence, on the 
black catalogue of crime, may be traced to the gam- 
bling table, as the entering wedge to its perpetration. 

This alarming evil is as wide-spread as our country. 
It is practiced from the humblest water craft that floats 
on our canals up to the majestic steamboat on our 
mighty rivers ; from the lowest groggeries that curse 
the community, up to the most fashionable hotels that 
claim respectability ; from the hod-carrier in his 
bespattered rags, up to the honorable members of 
congress in their ruffles. Like a mighty maelstrom, 
its motion, at the outside, is scarcely perceptible, but 
soon increases to a fearful velocity ; suddenly the 
awful centre is reached — the victim is lost In the 
vortex. Interested friends may warn, the wife may 
entreat, with all the eloquence of tears ; children may 
cling and cry for bread — once in the fatal snare, the 
victim of gamblers is seldom saved. He combines 
the deafness of the adder with the desperation of a 
maniac, and rushes on, regardless of danger — reck- 
less of consequences. 

To the fashionable of our country, who play cards 
and other games as an innocent amusement, we may 
trace the most aggravated Injuries resulting from 
gambling. It is there that young men of talents, 
education^ and wealth, take the degree of entered 



G A MILLING. 279 

apprentice. The example of men in high Hfe, men 
in public stations and responsible offices, has a pow- 
erful and corrupting influence on society, and does 
much to increase the evil, and forward, as well as 
sanction the high-handed robbery of fine dressed 
blacklegs. The gambling hells in our cities, tolerated 
and patronized, are a disgrace to a nation bearing a 
Christian name, and would be banished from a Pagan 
community. 

Gambling assumes a great variety of forms, from 
the flipping of a cent in the bar room for a glass of 
whisky, up to the splendidly furnished faro bank room, 
where men are occasionally swindled to the tune of 
"ten thousand a year," and sometimes a much larger 
amount. In addition to these varieties, we have 
legalized lotteries and fancy stock brokers, and among 
those who manage them, professors of religion are 
not unfrequently found. 

Thousands who carefully shun the monster under 
any other form, pay a willing tribute to the tyrant at 
the shrine of lotteries. Persons from all classes 
throw their money into this vault of uncertainty, this 
whirlpool of speculation, with a less chance to regain it =^ 
than when at the detested faro bank. It is here that 
the poor man spends his last dollar ; it is here that 
the rich often become poor, for a man has ten chances 
to be killed by lightning where he has one to draw a 
capital prize. The ostensible objects of lotteries are 
always praiseworthy. Meeting houses, hospitals, 
seminaries of learning, internal improvement, some 
laudable enterprise, may always be found first and 










280 



GAMBLING. 



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foremost in a lottery scheme ; the most ingenious and 
most fatal gull trap ever invented by man or devil 

Gaming cowers in darkness, and often blots out all 
the nobler powers of the heart, paralyzes its sensibil- 
ities to human woe, severs the sacred ties that bind 
man to man, to woman, to family, to community, to 
morals, to religion, to social order, and to country. 
It transforms men to brutes, desperadoes, maniacs, 
m.isanthropists, and strips human nature of all its 
native dignity. The gamester forfeits the happiness 
of this life and endures the penalties of sin in both 
worlds. His profession is the scavenger of avarice, 
haggard and filthy, badly fed, poorly clad, and worse 
paid. 

Let me entreat all to shun the monster, under all 
his borrowed and deceptive forms. Remember that 
gambling for amusement is the wicket gate into the 
labyrinth, and when once in, you may find it difficult 
to get out. Ruin is marked in blazing capitals over 
the door of the gambler ; his hell is the vestibule to 
that eternal hell where the worm dieth not and the 
fire is not quenched. If you regard your own, and 
the happiness of your family and friends, and the sal- 
vation of your immortal soul, recoil from even the 
shadow of a shade reflected by this heaven-daring, 
heart-breaking, soul-destroying, fashionable, but ruin- 
ous vice. 

An evil that starts upon a wrong principle, the vital 
element of which is injustice, must have a vast produc- 
tive force in creating other evils. It is necessarily a 
mighty agency in destroying all that is good in the 



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GAMBLING. 



soul ; vitiating- the whole character, and dragging 
down every lofty purpose and noble aspiration. And 
we find that the gambler is rapidly qualified for every 
other species of wickedness. The hery excitement 
to which he yields himself in the game-room inflames 
every other passion. It produces a state of mind 
*that can be satisfied only with intense and forbidden^-/^ 
pleasures. It virtu;ally takes him out of the circle of^' 
refined, rational enjoyment and plunges him into scenes 
more congenial to a corrupt taste. He would gladly 
witness as a pastime bull fights, pugilistic contests ; and 
perhaps his craving for excitement could only be fully 
satisfied by scenes such as Roman persecutors and 
heathen spectators formerly feasted upon, in which 
men and women were torn in pieces by wild beasts. 
Such bloody encounters and horrid tragedies might 
^Gome up to his standard of amusement, ; \ ^fl^oJ^;- 

Thus does the giant vice uncivilize a man "ano^^ 
throw him back into a state of barbarism. It revo- 
lutionizes his tastes at the same time that it casts 
down his moral principles. If its victim has been in 
early life under the influence of religious sentiment, 
it speedily obliterates those sentiments from the mind. 
If the voice of conscience has been in the past years 
heard, that voice is now silenced. If feelings of 
humanity once had influence, their power is now 
gone. If visions of extensive usefulness and honor- 
able achievement once floated in the imagination 
they have vanished ; vanished in the distance, never 
to return. 

Nor should the youth forget that if he is once 



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f. 







282 



TEMPER. 




taken in the coils of this vice, the hope of extricating 
himseh^, or of reaHzing his visions of wealth and 
happiness, is exceedingly faint. He has no rational 
grounds to expect that he can escape the terrible 
consequences that are inseparably connected with 
this sin. If he does not become bankrupt in property, 
he is sure to become one in character and in moral 
principle ; he becomes a debauched, debased, friend- 
less vagabond. 



It 



AW^tX^ 



Good temper is like a sunny day, it sheds its 
brightness on everything. No trait of character is 
more valuable than the possession of good temper. 
Home can never be made happy without it. It is like 
flowers springing up in our pathway, reviving and 
cheering us. Kind words and looks are the outward 
demonstration ; patience and forbearance are the sen- 
tinels within. 

If a man has a quarrelsome temper, let him alone. 
The world will soon find him employment. He will 
soon meet with some one stronger than himself, who 
will repay him better than you can. A man may fight 
duels all his life if he is disposed to quarrel. How 
sweet the serenity of habitual self-command ! How 
many stinging self-reproaches it spares us ! When 
does a man feel more at ease with himself than when 



li 



-,.^<?=^^?S"'?'. 




TEMPER. 



1 



CiOf 



he has passed throu^^h a sudden and strong provoca- 
tion zvithout speaking a ivorcl, or in ttndistMrbed good 
htmior / When, on the contrary, does he feel a deeper 
humihation than when he is conscious that anger has 
made him betray himself by word, look or action ? 
Nervous irritability is the greatest weakness of char- 
acter. It is the sharp grit which aggravates friction 
and cuts out the bearings of the entire human machine. 
Nine out of every ten men we meet are in a chronic 
state of annoyance. The least untoward thing sets 
them in a ferment. 

There are people, yes many people, always looking 
out for slights. They cannot carry on the daily inter- 
course of the family without finding that some offense 
is designed. They are as touchy as hair triggers. If 
they meet an acquaintance who happens to be pre- 
occupied with business, they attribute his abstraction 
in some mode personal to themselves and take umbrage 
accordingly. They lay on others the fruit of their 
irritability. Indigestion makes them see impertinence 
in every one they come in contact with. Innocent 
persons, who never dreamed of giving offense, are 
astonished to find some unfortunate word, or momen- 
rary taciturnity, mistaken for an insult. To say the 
least, the habit is unfortunate. It is far wiser to take 
the more charitable view of our fellow beings, and 
not suppose that a slight is intended unless the neg- 
lect is open and direct. After all, too, life takes its 
hues in a great degree from the color of our own 
mind. If we are frank and generous, the world will 
treat us kindly ; if, on the contrary, we are suspicious. 






284 



TEMPER. 



v 



men learn to be cold and cautious to us. Let a per- 
son get the reputation of being ''touchy," and every- 
body is under restraint, and in this way the chances 
of an imaginary offense are vastly increased. 

Do you not find in households — refined, many of 
them — many women who are jealous, exacting, and 
have a temper that will be swayed by nothing ? And 
do we not see in another family circle a man as coarse 
and bloody-mouthed as a despot? The purpose of 
the existence of a score of people is to make him 
happy, fan him, feed him, amuse him, and he stands 
as a great absorbent of the life and heat that belongs 
to the rest. Many sermons tell you to be meek and 
humble, but you do n't hear many which tell you you 
live in your families to growl, to bite, and to worry 
one another. You ought to make in your households 
the outward and visible life-work for this spiritual and 
transcendent life. There can be nothing too grace- 
ful and truthful, generous, disinterested and gracious 
for the household. All that a man expects to be in 
heaven, he ought to try to be from day to day with 
his wife and children, and with those that are mem- 
bers of his family. 

It is said of Socrates, that whether he was teaching 
the rules of an exact morality, whether he was 
answering his corrupt judges, or was receiving sen- 
tence of death, or swallowing the poison, he was still 
the same man ; that is to say, calm, quiet, undisturbed, 
intrepid, in a word, wise to the last. 

A man once called at the house of Pericles and 
abused him violently. His anger so transcended him 




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TE.Ml'KR. 



285 



that he did not observe how late it was growing, and 
when he had exhausted his passion it was quite dark. 
When he turned to depart, Pericles calmly summoned 
a servant and said to him, ''Bring a lamp and attend 
this man home." 

Like flakes of snow that fall unperceived upon the 
earth, the seemingly unimportant events of life, spc- 
ce.ed .one another. As the snow gathers together, 
so ai'e our habits formed. No single flake that 
is added to the pile, produces a sensible change. 
No single action creates, however it may exhibit 
a man's character; but as the tempest hurls the 
avalanche down the mountain, and overwhelms the 
inhabitant and his habitation, so passion, acting 
upon the elements of mischief which pernicious 
habits have brought together by imperceptible accu- 
mulation, may overthrow the edifice of truth and 
virtue. 

Truly, a man ought to be, above all things, kind 
and gentle, but however meek he is required to be, 
he also ought to remember that he is a man. There 
are many persons to whom we do not need to tell 
this truth, for as soon as they only think of having 
been offended or that somebody has done them any 
harm, they fly up like gunpowder. Long before they 
know for a certainty that there is a thief in the gar- 
den they have the window open and the old gun has 
been popped. It is a very dangerous thing to have 
such neighbors, for we could sit more safely on the 
horns of a bull than to live in quietness with such 
characters. We, therefore, should form no friendship 
r^- , ... , . 






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286 



ANGER. 



11 



with person.s of a wrathful temper, and g-o no farther 
than is needful with a man of a fiery and unrestrained 
spirit. Solomon said, "He that is slow to wrath is 
of great understanding, but he that is hasty of spirit 
exalteth folly." 

Our advice is, to keep cool under all circumstances, 
if possible. Much may be effected by cultivation. 
We should learn to command our feehngs and act 
prudently in all the ordinary concerns of life. This 
will better prepare us to meet sudden emergencies 
with calmness and fortitude. If we permit our feel- 
ings to be ruffled and disconcerted in small matters, 
they will be thrown into a whirlwind when big events 
overtake us. Our best antidote is, implicit confidence 
in God. 



It does no good to get angry. Some sins have a 
seeming compensation or apology, a present gratifica- 
tion of some sort, but anger has none. A man feels 
no better for it. It is really a torment, and when the 
storm of passion has cleared away, it leaves one to 
see that he has been a fool. And he has made him- 
self a fool in the eyes of others too. 

Sinful anger, when it becomes strong, is called 
wrath ; when it makes outrages, it is fury ; when it 
becomes fixed, it is termed hatred; and when it 
intends to injure any one, it is called malice. All 



ANGER. 287 

these wicked passions spring from anger. The con- 
tinuance and frequent fits of anger produce an evil 
habit in the soul, a propensity to be angry, which 
oftentimes ends in choler, bitterness, and morosity; 
when the mind becomes ulcerated, peevish, and quer- 
ulous, and like a thin, weak plate of Iron, receives 
impressions, and is wounded by the least occurrence. i!v| 

Anger Is such a headstrong and impetuous passion, 
that the ancients call It a short madness ; and indeed 
there Is no difference between an angry man and a 
madman while the fit continues, because both are void 
of reason and blind for that season. It is a disease 
that, where It prevails, Is no less dangerous than 
deforming to us ; It swells the face, It agitates the 
body, and Inflames the blood ; and as the evil spirit 
mentioned In the Gospel threw the possessed Into the 
fire or the water, so It casts us Into all kinds of danger. '^ || 
It too often ruins or subverts whole families, towns, 
cities, and kingdoms. It Is a vice that very few can 
conceal ; and If it does not betray itself by such 
external signs as paleness of the countenance and : 

trembling of the limbs, it Is more impetuous v/ithln, 
and by gnawing in the heart injures the body and the >]^^ 
mind very much. 

No man is obliged to live so free from passion as 
not to show some resentment ; and it Is rather stoical 
stupidity than virtue, to do otherwise. Anger may 
glance into the breast of a wise man, but rest onl)^ in 
the bosom of fools. Fight hard against a hasty tem- 
per. Anger will come, but resist it strongly. A spark 
may set a house on fire. A fit of passion may givs 



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you cause to mourn all the days of your life. Never 
revenge an injury. When Socrates found in himself 
any disposition to anger, he would check it by speak- 
ing lov/, in opposition to the motions of his displeas- 
ure. If you are conscious of being in a passion, keep 
your mouth shut, for words increase it. Many a 
person has dropped dead in a rage. Fits of anger 
bring fits of disease. *' Whom the gods would destroy 
they first make mad," and the example is a good one 
for our imitation. If you would demolish an oppo- 
nent in argument, first make him as mad as you can. 
Dr. Fuller used to say that the heat of passion makes 
our souls to crack, and the devil creeps in at the 
crevices. Anger is a passion the most criminal and 
destructive of all the passions ; the only one that not 
only bears the appearance of insanity, but often pro- 
duces the wildest form of madness. It is difiicults 
indeed, sometimes to mark the line that distinguishes 
the bursts of rage from the bursts of frenzy ; so simi- 
lar are its movements, and too often equally similar 
are its actions. What crime has not been committed 
in the paroxysms of anger ? Has not the friend mur- 
dered his friend? the son massacred his parent? the 
creature blasphemed his Creator? When, indeed, 
the nature of this passion is considered, what crime 
may it not commit? Is it not the storm of the human 
mind, which wrecks every better affection — wrecks 
reason and conscience ; and, as a ship driven without (^' 
helm or compass before the rushing gale, is not the l, 

mind borne away, without guide or government, by 
the tempest of unbounded rage ? I 



// 





LOVE 

Love is of such a refining, elevating character, that it expels all that is mean and base; 
bids us think great thoughts, do great deeds, and changes our 
common clay into fine gold. (Page 454.) 




DO I LOVE HIM WELL ENOUGH TO MARRY HIM? 

How can another know what you want in a companion? You alone know your own heart. 
No one else can tell you what fills you with pleasing and grateful emotions. 
You only know when the spring of true affection is touched by the 
hand of a congenial spirit. (Page 448.) 








ANGKR 




fi 




A passionate temper renders a man unfit for advice, 
deprives him of his reason, robs him of all that is 
either great or noble in his nature ; it makes him unfit 
for conversation, destroys friendship, changes justice 
into cruelty, and turns all order into confusion. Says 
yt^(p^r^ Bacon: ''An angry man who suppresses his 
y^passions, thinks worse than he speaks; and an angry > 
Lman that will-^id^-, speaks worse than he thinks.'^; 
A wi^%man hath no more anger than is necessary to 
show that he can apprehend the first wrong, nor any 
more revenge than justly to prevent a second. One 
angry word sometimes raises a storm that time itself 
cannot allay. There is many a man whose tongue 
might govern multitudes, if he could only govern his 
tongue. He is the man of power who controls the 
storms and tempests of his mind. He that will be 
i^-S'^^^angry for anything, will be angry for nothing. A||^ 
k some are often incensed without 3i'x:2t(isQ,' ^0fth'§yJ-Sr^''<i 
apt to continue their anger, lest it should appear to 
their disgrace to have begun without occasion. If we 
do not subdue our anger it will subdue us. It is the 
second word that makes the quarrel. That anger is 
not warrantable that hath seen two suns. One long 
anger, and twenty short ones, have no very great 
difference. Our passions are like the seas, agitable 
by the winds ; and as God hath set bounds to these, 
so should we to those — so far shall thou go, and no 
farther. 

Angry and choleric men are as ungrateful and 
unsociable as thunder and lightning, being in them- 
selves all storm and tempests ; but quiet and easy 





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natures are like fair weather, welcome to all, and 
acceptable to all men; they gather together what the 
other disperses, and reconcile all whom the other 
incenses; as they have the good will and the good 
wishes of all other men, so they have the full possess- 
sion of themselves, have all their own thoughts at 
peace, and enjoy quiet and ease in their own fortunes, 
how strait soever it may be. 

But how with the angr}^? Who thinks well of an 
ill-natured, churlish man, who has to be approached in 
the most guarded and cautious way? Who wishes 
him for a neighbor, or a partner in business? He 
keeps all about him in nearly the same state of mind 
as if they were living next door to a hornet's nest or 
a rabid animal. And so to prosperity in business; 
one gets along no better for getting angry. What if 
business is perplexing, and everything goes "by con- 
traries!" Will a fit of passion make the wind more 
propitious, the ground more productive, the market 
more favorable ? Will a bad temper draw customers, 
pay notes, and make creditors better natured? If 
men, animals, or senseless matter cause trouble, will 
getting "mad" help matters.^ — make men more sub- 
servient, brutes more docile, wood and stone more 
tractable? Any angry man adds nothing to the wel- 
fare of society. He may do some good, but more 
hurt. Heated passion makes him a firebrand, and it 
is a v/onder that he does not kindle flames of discord 
on every hand. 

The disadvantages arising from anger, 
ircumstances, should prove a panacea for the com- 





ANGER. 



291 






plamt. In moments of cool reflection, the man who 
indulges it, views, w^ith deep regret, the desolations 
produced by a summer storm of passion. Friendship, 
domestic happiness, self-respect, the esteem of others, 
and son\^times property, are swept away by a whirl- 
wind ; pel haps a tornado of anger. We have more 
than once seen the furniture of a house in a mass of 
ruin, the wux'k of an angry moment. We have seen 
anger make wives unhappy, alienate husbands, spoil 
children, deraiige all harmony, and disturb the quiet 
of a whole neighborhood. Anger, like too much 
wine, hides us from ourselves, but exposes us to 
others. 

Some people seem to live in a perpetual storm; 
calm weather can never be reckoned upon in their 
company. Suddenly, when you least expect it, with- 
out any adequate reason, and almost without any 
reason at all, the sky becomes black, and the wind 
rises, and there is growling thunder and pelting rain. 
You can hardly tell where the tempest came from. 
An accident for which no one can be rightly blamed, 
a misunderstanding which a moment's calm thought 
would have terminated, a chance word which meant 
no evil, a trifling difficulty which good sense might 
have removed at once, a slight disappointment which 
a cheerful heart would have borne with a smile, brings 
on earthquakes and hurricanes. What men want of 
reason for their opinions, they are apt to supply and 
make up in rage. The most irreconcilable enmities 
grow from the most intimate friendships. To be 
angry with a weak man is to prove that you are not 



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kl'.7 







very strong- yourself. It is much better to reprove 
than to be angry secretly. Anger, says Pythagoras, 
begins with folly and ends with repentance. 

Be not angry that you cannot make others as you 
wish them to be, since you cannot make yourself what 
you wish to be. 

He that is angry with the just reprover kindles the 
fire of the just avenger. Bad money cannot circulate 
through the veins and arteries of trade. It is a great 
pity that bad blood can circulate through the veins 
and arteries of the human frame. It seems a pity 
that an angry man, like the bees that leave their stings 
in the wounds they make, could inflict only a single 
injury. And, to a certain extent, it is so, for anger 
has been compared to a ruin, which, in falling upon 
its victims, breake itself to pieces. Since, then, anger 
is useless, disgraceful, without the least apology, and 
found ''only in the bosom of fools," why should it be 
indulged at all? 




An obstinate man does not hold opinions, but they 
hold him ; for when he is once possessed of an 
error, it is like a devil, only cast out with great diffi- 
culty. Whatsoever he lays hold on, like a drowning 
man, he never loosens, though it but help to sink him 
the sooner. Narrowness of mind is the cause of 



1 



2- 





XL 



obstinacy. We do not easily believe what is beyond 
our sight. There are few, very few, who will own 
themselves in a mistake. Obstinacy is a barrier to 
all improvement. Whoever perversely resolves to 
adhere to plans or opinions, be they right or be they 
^^^^^, because such plans and opinions have been 
:^ " *^^^y.j(;adopted by him, raises an impenetrable bcO^ 
">lJLo conviction and information. To be open to conj^ 
■'viction, speaks a wise mind, an amiable character. 
Human nature is so frail and so ignorant, so liable to 
misconception, that none but the most incorrigibly 
vain can pertinaciously determine to abide by self-sug- 
gested sentiments, unsanctioned by the experience or 
the judgment of others, as only the most incurably 
foolish can be satisfied with the extent of their knowl- 
edge. The wiser we are, the more we are aware of 
V^t^-^^wpur ignorance. Whoever resojyes not to/Mter his '^;'? 
measures, shuts himself out fro rrivatf^ possibility of 
improvement, and must die, as he lives, ignorant, or 
at best but imperfectly informed. 

In morals, perhaps, obstinacy may be more plausibly 
excused, and, under the misnomer of firmness, be 
practiced as a virtue. But the line between obstinacy 
and firmness is strong" and decisive. The smallest 
share of common sense will suffice to detect it, and 
there is little doubt that few people pass this boundary 
without being conscious of the fault. 

It will probably be found that those qualities which 
come under the head of foibles, rather than of vices, 
render people most intolerable as companions and 
coadjutors. For example, it may be observed that 



4 



i^. 






A 



294 



OBSTINACY. 



those persons have a more worn, jaded, and dispirited 
look than any others, who have to live with people 
who make difficulties on every occasion, great or small. 
It is astonishing to see how this practice of making 
difficulties grows into a confirmed habit of mind, and 
what disheartenment it occasions. The savor of life 
is taken out of it when you know that nothing you 
propose or do, or suggest, hope for, or endeavor, will 
meet with any response but an enumeration of diffi- 
culties that lie in the path you wish to travel. The 
difficulty-monger is to be met with not only in domes- 
tic and social life, but also in business. It not unfre- 
quently occurs in business relations that the chief will 
never by any chance, without many objections and 
much bringing forward of possible difficulties, approve 
of anything that is brought to him by his subordinates. 
They at last cease to take pains, knowing that no 
amount of pains will prevent their work being dealt 
with in a spirit of ingenious objectiveness. At last 
they say to themselves, "The better the thing we 
present, the more opportunity he will have for devel- 
oping his unpleasant task of objectiveness, and his 
imaginative power of inventing difficulties." 

Of all disagreeable people, the obstinate are the 
worst. Society is often dragged down to low stan- 
dards by two or three who propose, in every case, to 
fight everything and every idea of which they are not 
the instigators. When a new idea is brought to such 
persons, instead of drawing out of it what good they 
can, they seek to get the bad, ever ready to head a 
mountain of difficulties upon it. 




\ '^i 








¥ 



IK 



HYPOCRISY. 






But there are situations in which the proper opinions 
and mode of conduct are not evident. In such cases 
we must maturely reflect ere we decide ; we must seek 
for the opinions of those wiser and better acquainted 
with the subject than ourselves ; we must candidly 
hear all that can be said on both sides ; then, and 
only then, can we in such cases hope to determine 
isely; but the decision, once so deliberately adopted, 
e must firmly sustain, and never yield but to the 
most unbiased conviction of our former error. 




There is no folly in the world so great as to be a 
hypocrite. The hypocrite is hated of the world for 
seeming to be a Christian ; he is hated by God for 
not being one. He hates himself and he is even 
despised by Satan for serving him and not acknowl- 
edging it. Hypocrites are really the best followers 
and the greatest dupes that Satan has ; they serve 
him better than any other, but receive no wages. 
And, what is most wonderful, they submit to greater 
mortifications to go to hell than the most sincere 
Christian to go to heaven. They desire more to 
seem good than to be so, wdiile the Christian desires 
more to be so than to seem so. They study more to 
enter into religion than that religion should enter into 
them. They are zealous in little things but cold and 
remiss In the most Important. They are saints by 




?' A 






HYPOCRISY. 

pretension, but satans in intention. They testify, they 
worship only to answer their wicked purposes. They 
stand as angels before their sins so as to hide them. 
A scorpion thinks when its head is under a leaf it 
cannot be seen. So the hypocrite. The false saints 
think when t>hey have hoisted up one or two good 
works, that all their sins therewith are covered and 



Let us ask ourselves seriously and honestly, "What 
do I believe after all.^ What manner of man am I 
after all ? What sort of a show should I make after 
all, if the people around me knew my heart and all 
my secret thoughts.^ What sort of a show, then, do I 
already make, in the sight of Almighty God, who 
sees every man exactly as he is.^" Oh, that poor 
soul, though it may fool people and itself, it will not 
fool God! 

Hypocrisy shows love, but is hatred; shows friend- 
ship, but is an enemy; shows peace, but is at war; it 
shows virtue, but is wretched and wicked. It flatters; 
it curses; it praises; it slanders. It always has two 
sides of a question; it possesses what it does not pre- 
tend to, and pretends to what it does not possess. 

Men are afraid of slight outward acts which will 
injure them in the eyes of others, while they are 
heedless of the damnation which throbs in their souls 
in hatreds, and 3ealousies5 and revenges. 

They are more troubled by the outburst of a sinful 
disposition, than by the disposition itself, It is not 
the evil, but its reflex effect upon themselves, that 
they dread. It is the love of approbation, and not 






r-:^ 






HYPOCRISY, 

the conscience, that enacts the part of a moral sense, 
in this case. If a man covet, he steals. If a man 
have murderous hate, he murders. If a man brood 
dishonest thoughts, he is a knave. If a man harbor 
sharp and bitter jealousies, envies, hatreds, though he 
l\express them by his tongue, or shape them by 
hts hand^^hey ai:e there. Society, to be sure, is le^fi 
injured by th^ig^t^ftt-existence than it would be by^ v 
their ^i^rt forms. But the man himself is as much 
injured by the cherished thoughts of evil, in his own 
soul, as by the open commission of it, and sometimes 
even more. For evil brought out ceases to disguise 
itself, and seems as hideous as it is. But evil that 
lurks and glances through the soul avoids analysis, 
and evades detection. 

There are many good-seeming -men who, if all 
lEelr day's thoughts and feelings..were to be suddenlMST' 
developed Into acts, visible to the^^^ye, would run ''^'^' 
from themselves, as men in earthquakes run from the 
fiery gaplngs of the ground, and sulphurous cracks 
that open the way to the uncooled centre of per- 
dition. 

Pretension ! profession ! how haughtily they stride 
into the kingdom of the lowly Redeemer, and usurp 
the highest seats, and put on the robes of sanctity, 
and sing the hymns of praise, and utter aloud, to be 
heard of men, the prayers which the spirit ought to 
breathe in silent and childlike confidence into the ear 
of the listening and loving Father ! How they build 
high domes of worship with velvety seats and golden 
altars and censers and costly plate and baptismal 




c>w-i 



t; 





fonts by the side of squalid want and ragged poverty ! 
How their mocking prayers mingle with the cry of 
beggary, the curse of blasphemy, the wail of pain 
and the lewd laugh of sensuality ! How mournfully 
their organ chants of praise, bought with sordid gold, 
go up from the seats of worldliness and pride, and 
how reproachfully the tall steeples of cathedrals and 
synagogues and churches look down on the oppres- 
sion and pride and selfishness which assemble below 
them, and the slavery, poverty, and intemperance 
which pass and repass their marble foundations ! Oh! 
shade of religion, where art thou ? Spirit of the lowly 
bleeder on Calvary, hast thou left this world in des- 
pair? Comforter of the mourning, dweller with the 
sinful, how long shall these things be ? Religion is 
made a show-bubble. Pride is her handmaid, and 
selfishness her leader. What a tawdry show they 
make ! And who believes the substance is equal to 
the show, the root as deep as the tree is high, the 
foundation as firm as the structure is imposing? No- 
where does show more wickedly usurp the dominion 
of substance than In the realm of religion. In the 
world we might expect to see hypocrisy. But the 
true religion Is above the world. ''My kingdom is 
not of this world," said its founder. It has a world 
of Its own. It is built on substance. But men have 
sought to make it a world of show, to carry the 
deception and Pharisaism of this world up into the 
Redeemer s world, and palm them off there for the 
golden reality that shall be admitted to heaven. But 
poorly will hypocrisy pass at the bar of God. No 





la 




FRETTING AND GRUMBLING. 



299 



-^/ 



ii 



coin but the true one passes there. No gilding will 
hide the hollowness of a false soul. No tawdry dis> 
plays will avail with that eye whose glance, like a 
sword, pierces to the heart. All is open there ; all 
hypocrisy, vanity ; worse than vanity ; it is sin. It is 
a gilded lie, a varnished cheat. It is proof of the 
hollowness within, the sign of corruption. Yea, more; 
it is itself corrupting; a painted temptation. It lures 
men away from the truth ; wastes their energies on a 
shadow ; wins their affections to fading follies, and 
gives them a disrelish for the real, the substantial, and 
enduring. Who can expect that God will not hide In 
every hollow show intended to deceive, a sharp two- 
edged sword that shall cut with disappointment, and 
pierce with inward wasting want ? 




l^ UW 



Many very excellent persons, whose lives are hon- 
orable and whose characters are noble, pass number- 
less hours of sadness and weariness of heart. The 
fault is not with their circumstances, nor yet with 
their general characters, but with themselves that 
they are miserable. They have failed to adopt the 
true philosophy of life. They wait for happiness to 
come instead of going to work and making it ; and 
while they Avait they torment themselves with bor- 
rowed troubles, with fears, forebodings, morbid fan- 




300 



FRETTING AND GRUiMBLING. 



cies and moody spirits, till they are all unfitted for 
happiness under any circumstances. Sometimes they 
cherish unchaste ambition, covet some fancied or real 
good which they do not deserve and could not enjoy 
if it were theirs, wealth they have not earned, honors 
they have not won, attentions they have not merited, 
love which their selfishness only craves. Sometimes 
they undervalue the good they do possess ; throw 
away the pearls in hand for some beyond their reach, 
and often less valuable ; trample the flowers about 
them under their feet ; long for some never seen, but 
only heard or read of; a^d forget present duties and 
joys in future and far-off visions. Sometimes they 
shade the present with every cloud of the past, and 
although surrounded by a thousand inviting duties 
and pleasures, revel in sad memories with a kind of 
morbid relish for the stimulus of their miseries. 
Sometimes, forgetting the past and present, they live 
in the future, not in its probable realities, but in its 
most improbable visions and unreal creations, now of 
good and then of evil, wholly unfitting their minds 
for real life and enjoyments. These morbid and 
improper states of mind are too prevalent among 
some persons. They excite that nervous irritability 
which is so productive of pining regrets and fretful 
complaints. They make that large class of fretters 
who enjoy no peace themselves, nor permit others to 
enjoy it. In the domestic circle they fret their life 
away. Everything goes wrong with them because 
they make it so. The smallest annoyances chafe them 
as though they were unbearable aggravations. Their 








,':v \ 



7K' 




\ND GRUMBLING. 



business and duties trouble them as though such 
things were not good. Pleasure they never seem to 
know because they never get ready to enjoy it. Even 
the common movements of Providence are all wrong 
with them. The weather is never as it should be. 
^^::. seasons roll on badly. The sun is never pro- 
-^rly tampered. The climate is always charged wit|p:/ 
a multitude of vices. The winds are everlastingly " 
perverse, either too high or too low, blowing dus^ in 
everybody's face, or not fanning them as they should. 
The earth is ever out of humor, too dry or too wet, 
too muddy or dusty. And the people are just about 
like it. Something is wrong all the time, and the 
wrong is always just about them. Their home is the 
worst of anybody's ; their street and their neighbor- 
hood is the most unpleasant to be found ; nobody else 
rr^lias so bad servants and so many annoyances as they\ 
Their lot is harder than falls to efimmon mortals;""' 
they have to work harder and always did ; have less 
and always expect to. They have seen more trouble 
than other folks know anything about. They are 
never so well as their neighbors, and they always 
charge all their unhappiness upon those nearest con- 
nected with them, never dreaming that they are 
themselves the authors of it all. Such people are to 
be pitied. Of all the people in the world they 
deserve most our compassion. They are good people 
in many respects, very benevolent, very conscientious, 
very pious, but, withal, very annoying to themselves 
and others. As a general rule, their goodness makes 
them more difficult to cure of their evil. They can- 





i 





FRETTING AND GRUMBLING. 



not be led to see that they are at fault. Knowing 
their virtues they cannot see their faults. They do 
not, perhaps, overestimate their virtues ; but they fail 
to see what they lack, and this they always charge 
upon others, often upon those who love them best. 
They see others'actions through the shadow of their 
own fretful and gloomy spirits. Hence it is that they 
see their own faults as existing in those about them, 
as a defect in the eye produces the appearance of a 
corresponding defect in every object toward which it 
is turned. This defect in character is more generally 
the result of vicious or improper habits of mind, than 
any constitutional idiosyncrasy. It is the result of 
the indulgence of gloomy thoughts, morbid fancies, 
inordinate ambition, habitual melancholy, a complain- 
ing, fault finding disposition. 

A fretting man or woman is one of the most unlov- 
able objects in the world. A wasp is a comfortable 
house-mate in comparison ; it only stings when dis- 
turbed. But an habitual fretter buzzes if he don't 
sting, with or without provocation. ''It Is better to 
dwell in the corner of a house-top than with a brawl- 
ing woman and in a wide house." Children and 
servants cease to respect the authority or obey the 
commands of a complaining, worrisome, exacting 
parent or master. They know that *' barking dogs 
don't bite," and fretters don't strike, and they con- 
duct themselves accordingly. 

If we are faultless, we should not be so much 
annoyed by the defects of those with whom we a5.so* 
date. If we were to acknowledge honestly that we 


















have not virtue enoug-h to bear patiently with our 
nelg-hbors' weaknesses, we should show our own 
imperfection, and this alarms our vanity. 

He who frets Is never the one who mends, heals, 
or repairs evils ; more, he discourages, enfeebles, 
and too often disables those around him, who, but 
for the gloom and depression of his company, would 

^ do good work and keep up brave cheer. And when 
the fretter is one who is beloved, whose nearness of 
relation to us makes his fretting, even at the weather, 
seem almost like a personal reproach to us, then the 
misery of it becomes indeed insupportable. Most 
men call fretting a minor fault, a foible, and not a 
vice. There is no vice except drunkenness which 
can so utterly destroy the peace, the happiness of a 
home. We never knew a scolding person that was 
ble to govern a family. What makes people scold ?^ 

^Because they cannot govern themselves. Hovv^ can 
they govern others ? Those who govern well are 
generally calm. They are prompt and resolute, but 
steady. 

It is not work that kills men. It is worry. Work is 
healthy ; you can hardly put more on a man than he 
can bear. Worry Is rust upon the blade. It is not 
the revolution that destroys the machinery, but the 
friction. Fear secretes acids, but love and trust are 
sweet juices. The man or woman who goes .through 
the world grumbling and fretting, is not only violating 
the laws of God, but is a sinner against the peace and 
harmony of society, and is, and of right ought to be, 
shunned accordingly. They are always in hot water, 



^^ 



m 






^'^ 



forever in trouble. They throw the blame of their 
own misdeeds and want of judg;ment upon others, 
and if one might believe them, society would be 
found in a shocking state. They rail at everything, 
lofty or lowly, and when they have no grumbling to 
do they begin to deprecate. They endeavor to make 
good actions seem contemptible in other men's eyes, 
and try to belittle every noble and praiseworthy 
enterprise by casting suspicion upon the motives of 
those connected with it. Such individuals, whether 
men or women, are aa incubus on any society, and 
the best way to paralyze their efforts to create dis- 
cord, is to ignore them altogether. Let grumblers 
form a select circle by themselves. Let them herd 
together; give them the cold shoulder when they 
appear, and make them uncomfortable during their 
sojourn, and if they cannot be cured they may be 
more easily endured, and perhaps discover the error 
of their ways and reform. 

An Englishman dearly likes, says Punch, to grum- 
ble, no matter whether he be right or wrong, crying 
or laughing, working or playing, gaining a victory or 
smarting under a national humiliation, paying or being 
paid — still he must grumble, and, in fact, he is never 
so happy as when he is grumbling ; and, supposing 
everything was to our satisfaction (though it says a 
great deal for our power of assumption to assume any 
such absurd impossibility), still he would grumble at 
the fact of there being nothing for him to grumble 

about. 

There are two things about which we should never 







n 



^ 






=> 









GRANDADDY AND HIS PETS 

Can there be a more pleasing sight, than a venerable old man surrounded by his grand- 
children, all of whom are emulous of each other in testifying 
their homage and affection? (Page 594.) 



^x. 






#> 






TOWARD A BETTER WORLD 

There should be comfort to many in the thought expressed on a 

child's tombstone in an English church yard, as follows: 

'' 'Who plucketh that flower?' cried the gardener, as 

he walked through the garden. His helper answered, 

'The Master,' and the gardener held his peace." 






.^':iAQll?^^^ 





FAULT F\ND1N(;. 



305 



jj-rumble : the first is that which we cajinot help, and 
die other that which we can help. 



-*-»f'^'^|-'^'^ 



:ft^:.-.-i^- '-^ 



wl 



♦ . 14- 












iVl 



'W\ 






A ^AN would get a very false notion of his standi 
ing- among his friends and acquaintances if it were 
possible — as many would like to have it possible — 
to know what is said of him behind his back. One 
day he would go about in a glow of self-esteem, aad 
the next he would be bowed under a miserable sense 
of misapprehension and disgust. It would be impos- 
e for him to put this and that together and "strike 
an average." The fact is, there is a strange human; 
tendency to take the present friend into present con- 
fidence. With strong natures this tendency proves 
often a stumbling-block ; with weak natures it amounts 
to fickleness. It is a proof, no doubt, of the universal 
brotherhood ; but one has to watch, lest, in an un- 
guarded moment it lead him into ever so slight dis- 
loyalty to the absent. 

Never employ yourself to discover the faults of 
others — look to your own. You had better find out 
one of your own faults than ten of your neighbor's. 
When a thing does not suit you, think of some pleas- 
ant quality in it. There is nothing so bad as it might 
be. Whenever you catch yourself in a fault-finding 
remark, say some approving one in the same breath, 






m 

m 

h 







'W-' 



-306 FAULT FINDING. 

and you will soon be cured. Since the best of u- 
iiave too many infirmities to ?inswer for, says Dean 
Swift, we ought not to be too severe upon those of 
others; and, therefore, if our brother is in trouble, we 
ought to help him, without inquiring over-seriously 
what produced it. 

Those who have the fewest resources in themselves 
naturally seek the food of their self love elsewhere. 
The most ignorant people find most to laugh at in 
strangers ; scandal and satire prevail most in small 
places ; and the propensity to ridicule the slightest or 
i^; most palpable deviation from what we happen to 

^"".li approve, ceases with the progress of common sense 

/ , #4 g^j^ J decency. True worth does not exult in the 

faults and deficiency of others ; as true refinement 
turns away from grossness and deformity, instead of 
being tempted to indulge in an unmanly triumph over 
it. Raphael would not faint away at the daubing of 
a sign-post, nor Homer hold his head higher for being 
in the company of a ''great bard." Real power, real 
excellence does not seek for a foil in imperfection ; nor 
fear contamination from coming in contact with that 
which is coarse and homely. It reposes on itself, 
and is equally free from envy and affectation. There 
are some persons who seem to purposely treasure up 
things that are disagreeable. 

The tongue that feeds on mischief, the babbling, 
the tattling, the sly whispering, the impertinent med- 
' dling, all these tongues are trespassing on the com- 

munity constantly. The fiery tongue is also abroad, 
and being set on fire of hell, scatters firebrands am^ong 



FAULT FINDING, 



;0'/ 



friends, sets families, neighborhoods, churches, and 
social circles in a flame ; and, like the salamander, is 
wretched when out of the burning element. The 
black slandering tongue is constantly preying upon 
the rose buds of innocence and virtue, the foliage of 
merit, worth, genius, and talent ; and poisons with its 
filth of innuendoes and scum of falsehood, the most 
brilliant flowers, the most useful shrubs, and the most 
valuable trees in the garden of private and public 
reputation. Not content with its own base exertions, 
it leagues with the envious, jealous, and revengeful 
tongues ; and, aided by this trio, sufficient venom is 
combined to make a second Pandemonium ; and mal- 
ice enough to fill It with demons. Slander can swallow 
perjury like water, digest forgery as readily as Graham 
bread, convert white into black, truth into falsehood, 
good into evil, innocence into crime, and metamor- 
phose every thing which stands in the current of its 
polluted and polluting breath. 

We can understand how a boy that never had been 
taught better might carry torpedoes in his pocket, and 
delight to throw them down at the feet of passers-by 
and see them bound ; but we cannot understand how 
an instructed and well-meaning person could do such 
a thing. And yet there are men who carry torpedoes 
all their life, and take pleasure in tossing them at 
people. *'Oh!" they say, *'I have something now, 
and when I meet that man I will give it to him." 
And they w^ait for the right company and the right 
circumstances, and then they out with the most disa- 
greeable things. And if they are remonstrated with, 




v>t.'. 




:% 






they say, ''It is true," as if that were a justification of 
their conduct. If God should take all the things that 
are true of you, and make a scourge of them, and 
whip you with it, you would be the most miserable of 
men. But he does not use all the truth on you. 
And is there no law of kindness? Is there no desire 
to please and profit men ? Have you a right to take 
any little story that you can pick up about a man, and 
use it in such a way as to injure him, or give him pain ? 
And yet, how many men there are that seem to enjoy 
nothing so much as inflicting exquisite suffering upon 
a man in this way, when he cannot help himself? 
Well, you know just how the devil feels. Whenever 
he has done anything wicked, and has made some- 
body very unhappy, and laughs, he feels just as, for 
the time being, you feel when you have done a cruel 
thing, and somebody is hurt, and it does you good. 

By the rules of justice, no man ought to be ridi- 
culed for any imperfection who does not set up for 
eminent sufficiency in that wherein he is defective. 
If thou wouldst bear thy neighbor's faults, cast thy 
eyes upon thy own. 

It is easier to avoid a fault than to acquire a per- 
fection. By others' faults wise men correct their 
own. He that contemns a small fault commits a 
great one. The greatest of all faults is to believe we 
have none. Little minds ignore their own weakness, 
and carp at the defects of the great ; but great minds 
are sensible of their own faults, and largely compas- 
sionate toward inferiors. 

Beecher says: ''When the absent are spoken of. 



II 




xK^r 



K^^ 



m^A^) 








i-:^^-^(f 



#. 




some will speak gold of them, some silver, some iron, 
some lead, and some always speak dirt ; for they have 
a natural attraction toward what is evil and think it 
shows penetration in them. As a cat watching for 
mice does not look up though an elephant goes by, 
so they are so busy mousing for defects that they let 
great e?ccellences pass them unnoticed. I will not.(l-, 
say that it is not CJiristian to make beads of otliers' 
faults, and tell them over every day ; I say it is iitfer- 
7tal. '\i you want to know how the devil feels, you 
do know if you are such a one." 

There are no such disagreeable people in the world 
as those who are forever seeking their own improve- 
ment, and disquieting themselves about this fault and 
that ; while, on the other hand, there is an unconscious 
merit which wins more good than all the theoretically 
virtuous in the wide world. . 

What a world of gossip would be prevented, if if 
were only remembered that a person who tells you the 
faults of others intends to tell others of your faults. 
Every one has his faults ; every man his ruling pas- 
sion. The eye that sees all things sees not itself. 
That man hath but an ill life of it, who feeds himseH 
with the faults and frailties of other people. Were 
not curiosity the purveyor, detraction would soon be 
starved into tameness. 

To a pure, sensitive, and affectionate mind, every 
act of finding fault, or deahng in condemnation, is an 
act of pain. It is only when we have become callous 
to the world, and strangers to the sentiments of com- 
passionate love, that we are able to play with uncon- 



i'3 \ 



^?^:l 













':^, !i "" 







310 



ENVY. 



cern the parts of persecutors and slanderers, and that 
we can derive any pleasure from malignity and 
revenge. He who is the first to condemn, will be 
often the last to forgive. 

--4'^-^^^--- 



Envy's memory is nothing but a row of hooks to 
hang up grudges on. Some people's sensibility is 
a mere bundle of aversions, and you hear them display 
and parade it, not in recounting the things they are 
attached to, but in telling you how many things and 
persons they ''cannot bear." 

Envy is not merely a perverseness of temper, but 
it is such a distemper of the mind as disorders all the 
faculties of it. It began with Satan ; for when he fell 
he could see nothing to please him in Paradise, and 
envied our first parents when in innocence, and there- 
fore tempted them to sin, which ruined them, and all 
the human race. Mr. Locke tells us that upon asking 
a blind man what he thought scarlet was, he answered 
he believed it was like the sound of a trumpet. He 
was forced to form his conceptions of ideas which he 
had not, by those which he had. In the same manner, 
though an envious man cannot but see perfections, yet 
having contracted the distemper of acquired blindness, 
he will not own them, but is always degrading or 
misrepresenting things which are excellent. Thus, 
point out a pious person, and ask the envious man 






ENVY. 



311 



what he thinks of him, he will say he is a hypocrite, 
or deceitful ; praise a man of learning or of great 
abilities, and he will say he is a pedant, or proud of 
his attainments; mention a beautiful woman, and he 
will either slander her chastity or charge her with 
affectation ; show him a fine poem or painting, and 
he will call the one "stiff," and the other a ''daubing." 
In this way he depreciates or deforms every pleasing 
object. With respect to other vices, it is frequently 
seen that many confess and forsake them ; but this is 
not often the case with respect to this vice, for as the 
person afflicted with this evil knows very well to own 
that we envy a man is to allow him to be a superior, 
his pride will not therefore permit him to make any 
concession, if accused of indulging this base principle, 
but he becomes more violent against the person 
envied, and generally remains incurable. /^'^ %^ 

Like Milton's fiend in Paradise, he sees, unde- 
lighted, all delight. The brightness of prosperity 
that surrounds others, pains the eyes of the envious 
man more than the meridian rays of the sun. It 
starts the involuntary tear, and cas':s a gloom over 
his mind. It brings into action jealousy, revenge, 
falsehood, and the basest passions of the faHen 
nature of man. It goads him onward with a fearful 
impetus, like a locomotive ; and often runs his car off 
the track, dashes it in pieces, and he is left, bruised 
and bleeding. Like the cuttle-fish, he emits his 
black venom for the purpose of darkening the clear 
waters that surround his prosperous neighbors ; and, 
like that phenomenon of the sea, the inky substance 





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is confined to a narrow circumference, and only tends 
to hide himself. The success of those around him 
throws him into convulsions, and, like a man with the 
delirium tremens, he imagines all who approach him 
demons, seeking to devour him. Like Haman, he 
often erects his own gallows in his zeal to hang others. 
His mind is like the troubled sea, casting up the mire 
of revenge. ''Dionysius, the tyrant," says Plutarch, 
**out of envy, punished Philoxenius, the musician, 
because he could sing ; and Plato, the philosopher, 
because he could dispute better than himself." 

Envy is a sentiment that desires to equal, or excel 
the efforts of compeers ; not so much by increasing 
our own toil and ingenuity, as by diminishing the 
merit due to the efforts of others. It seeks to elevate 
itself by the degradation of others ; it detests the 
sounds of another's praise, and deems no renown 
acceptable that must be shared. Hence, when dis- 
appointments occur, they fall, with unrelieved violence, 
and the sense of discomfited rivalry gives poignancy 
to the blow. 

How is envy exemplified? A worm defiling the 
healthful blossom — a mildew, blasting the promised 
harvest. How true, yet how forbidding an image of 
the progress of envy ! And would any rational crea- 
ture be willingly the worm that defiles the pure blos- 
soms of virtue, the mildew that blasts the promised 
harvest of human talent, or of human happiness? 

And what produces envy ? The excellence of 



another. Humiliating deduction ! 
only the expression of inferiority 



Envy is, then, 
-the avowal of 



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ENVY 



deficiency — the homage paid to excellence. Let 
pride, for once, be virtue, and urge the extinction of 
this baneful passion, since its indulgence can only 
produce shame and regret. Envy is unquestionably, 
a high compliment, but a most ungracious one. An 
envious man repines as much at the manner in which 
his neighbors live as if he maintained them. Some 
people as much envy others a good name, as ^ they 
want it themselves, and that is the reason of it. Envy 
is fi:J§p^ on merit ; and, like a sore eye, is offended 
with anything that is bright. Envy increases in exact 
proportion with fame ; the man that makes a charac- 
ter makes enemies. A radiant genius calls forth 
swarms of peevish, biting, stinging insects, just as 
the sunshine awakens the world of flies. Virtue is 
not secure against envy. Evil men will lessen what 
t|iey won't imitate. If a man be good, he is envied ; 
if evil, himself is envious. "Envious, people are 
doubly miserable, in being afflicted with others' pros- 
perity and their own adversity. 

Envy is a weed that grows in all soils and climates, 
and is no less luxuriant in the country than in the 
court ; is not confined to any rank of men or extent 
of fortune, but rages in the breasts of all degrees. 
Alexander was not prouder than Diogenes ; and it 
may be, if we would endeavor to surprise it in its 
most gaudy dress and attire, and in the exercise of its 
full empire and tyraqny, we should find it in school- 
masters and scholars, or in some country lady, or her 
husband ; all which ranks of people more despise 
their neighbors than all the degrees of honor in 



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ENVY. 





which courts abound, and it rages as much in a sor- 
did affected dress as in all the silks and embroideries 
which the excess of the age and the folly of youth 
delight to be adorned with. Since, then, it keeps all 
sorts of company, and wriggles itself into the liking 
of the most contrary natures and dispositions, and 
yet carries so much poison and venom with it that it 
alienates the affections from heaven, and raises rebel- 
lion against God himself, it is worth our utmost care 
to watch it in all its disguises and approaches, that 
we may discover it in its first entrance and dislodge 
it before it procures a shelter or retiring place to 
lodge and conceal itself. 

Envy, like a cold poison, benumbs and stupefies ; 
and thus, as if conscious of its own impotence, it folds 
its arms in despair and sits cursing in a corner. 
When it conquers it is commonly in the dark, by 
treachery and undermining, by calumny and detrac- 
tion. Envy is no less foolish than detestable ; it is a 
vice which, they say, keeps no holiday, but is always 
in the wheel, and working upon its own disquiet. 
Envy, jealousy, scorpions and rattlesnakes can be 
made to sting themselves to death. He whose first 
emotion on the view of an excellent production is to 
undervalue it, will never have one of his own to show. 

Reader, if envy is rankling in your bosom, declare 
war against it at once ; a war of extermination ; no 
truce, no treaty, no compromise. Like the pirate on 
the high seas, it is an outlaw, an enemy to all man- 
kind, and should be hanged up at the yard arm until 
it is dead, dead, DEAD. 



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1 ^ 




SLANDER 




" That abominable tittle-tattle, 
The cud eschew'd by human cattle." 

— Byron. 

Slander Is a blighting sirocco ; its pestiferous 
breath pollutes with each respiration ; its forked 
tongue is charged with the same poison ; it searches 
all corners of the world for victims ; It sacrifices the 
high and the low, the king and the peasant, the rich 
and the poor, the matron and maid, the living and 
the dead ; but delights most in destroying worth, and 
immolating Innocence. Lacon has justly remarked: 
''Calumny crosses oceans, scales mountains, and tra- 
verses deserts with greater ease than the Scythian 
Abarls, and, like him, rides upon a poisoned arrow." 
As the Samiel wind of the Arabian desert not only 
produces death, but causes the most rapid decompo- 
sition of the body, so calumny affects fame, honor, 
integrity, worth, and virtue. The base, cloven-footed 
calumniator, like the loathsome worm, leaves his path 
marked with the filth of malice and scum of falsehood, 
and pollutes the fairest flowers, the choicest fruits, 
the most delicate plants In a green-house of charac- 
ter. Living, he is a traveling pest, and worse, dying 
impenitent, his soul is too deeply stained for hell. 
Oh, reader never slander the name of another. A 
writer once said: ''So deep does the slanderer sink 
in the murky waters of degradation and infamy, that 
rould an angel apply an Archimedian moral lever to 





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him, with heaven for a fulcrum, he could not, In a 
thousand years, raise him to the grade of a convict, 
felon." 

Slander ; 
Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue 
Out-venoms all the worms of Nile ; whose breath 
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie 
All corners of the world : Kings, queens, and states, 
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 
This viperous slander enters. 

It Is a melancholy reflection upon human nature, to 
see how small a matter will put the ball of scandal in 
motion. A mere hint a significant look, a mysterious 
countenance ; directing attention to a particular per- 
son ; often gives an alarming impetus to this 7[^7tis 
fattnts. A mere interrogatory Is converted Into an 
affirmative assertion — the cry of mad dog Is raised 
— the mass join in the chase, and not unfrequently, a 
mortal wound Is inflicted on the Innocent and meri- 
torious, perhaps by one who had no ill-will, or desire 
to do wrong in any case. 

There is a sad propensity In our fallen nature to 
listen to the retailers of petty scandal. With many, 
it Is the spice of conversation, the exhilarating gas of 
their minds. Without any Intention of doing essential 
injury to a neighbor, a careless remark, relative to 
some minor fault of his, may be seized by a babbler, 
and, as It passes through the babbling tribe, each one 
adds to Its bulk, and gives Its color a darker hue, 
until It assumes the magnitude and blackness of bas»3. 
slander. Few are without visible faults — most per- 
sons are somenmes inconsistent. Upon these faults 



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SLANDER. 




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and mistakes, petty scandal delights to feast. Nor 
are those safe from the filth and scum of this poison- 
ous tribe who are free from external blemishes. Envy 
and jealousy can start the blood-hound of suspicion ; 
create a noise that will attract attention, and many 
may be led to suppose there is game, when there is 
nothing but thin air. An unjust and unfavorable 
innuendo is started against a person of unblemished 
character; It gathers force as It Is rolled through 
Babbletown — It soon assumes the dignity of a prob- 
lem — is solved by the rule of double position, and 
the result Increased by geometrical progression and 
permutation of quantities ; and before truth can get 
her shoes on, a stain, deep and damning, has been 
stamped on the fair fame of an innocent victim, by an 
unknown hand. To trace calumny back to the small 
fountain of petty scandal. Is often impossible ; and 
always more difficult than to find the source of the 
Nile. 

Insects and reptiles there are which fulfill the ends of 
their existence by tormenting us ; so some minds and 
dispositions accomplish their destiny by increasing 
our misery, and making us more discontented and 
unhappy. Cruel and false Is he who builds his pleas- 
ure upon my pain, or his glory upon my shame. 

Shun evil-epeaklng. Deal tenderly with the absent; 
say nothing to inflict a wound on their reputation. 
They may be wrong and wicked, yet your knowledge 
of It does not oblige you to disclose their character, 
except to save others from Injury. Then do It In a 
way that bespeaks a spirit of kindness for the absent 



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SLANDER. 



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oftender. Be not hasty to credit evil reports. They 
are often the result of misunderstanding, or of evil 
design, or they proceed from an exaggerated or par- 
tial disclosure of facts. Wait and learn the whole 
story before you decide ; then believe just what evi- 
dence compels you to and no more. But even then, 
take heed not to indulge the least unkindness, else 
you dissipate all the spirit of prayer for them and 
unnerve yourself for doing them good. We are 
nearer the truth in thinking well of persons than ill. 
Human nature is a tree bearing good as w^ell as evil, 
but our eyes are wide open to the latter and half 
closed to the former. Believe but half the ill and 
credit twice the good said of your neighbor. 

A glance, a gesture, or an intonation, may be vital 
with falsehood, sinking a heavy shaft of cruelty deep 
into the injured soul — though truth, in its all-disclos- 
ing effulgence, will, sooner or later, disperse the mists 
and doom the falsifier to deserved aversion ; still, the 
exposure of the guilty does not recompense the in- 
jured any more than the bruising of the serpent heals 
the wound made by his barbed fang. An injurious 
rumor — originating, perhaps, in some sportive gossip 
— once attached to a person's name, will remain beside 
it a blemish and doubt for ever. Especially is this 
true, of the fair sex, many of whom have, from this 
cause, withered and melted in their youth like snow 
in the spring, shedding burning tears of sadness over 
the world's unkindness and ''man's inhumanity to 
man." 

Among many species of animals, if one of their 



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SLANDER. 



319 



number Is wcimded and falls, he Is at once torn to 
pieces by his fellows. Traces of this animal cruelty 
are seen in men and women to-clav. Let a woman 
fall from virtue and nine-tenths cf her sisters will turn 
and tear her to pieces, and the next day smile on the 
man who ruined her ! The cruelty of woman to 
woman is perfectly wolfish. O, shame! Reverse 
the action. Loathing for the unrepentant wretch and 
tenderness for the wounded sister. Tenderness and 
pity and help for both alike If they repent and 
reform. But never trust him who has been a betrayer 
once. No kindness demands this risk. The smell 
of blood is too strong for the tamed tiger. 

There Is a natural inclination in almost all persons 
to pelt others with stones. Our right hands ache to 
throw them. There Is such \^ Icked enjoyment in 
seeing the victims dodge and flinch and run. This-<®N 
is human nature in the rough. There are so many 
who never get out of the rough. There are multi- 
tudes of respectable people who evince exquisite 
pleasure in making others smart. There is a good 
deal of the Indian — the uncivilized man — in us all 
yet. It has not been wholly eliminated or educated 
out of us by the boasted enlightenment and civiliza- 
tion of the age. A great deal of pharisaic zeal to 
stone others who are no more guilty than we are still 
exists. It is often the crafty cry of ''Stop thief!" to 
divert attention from ourselves. A thief snatched a 
diamond ring from a jewler's tray and dodged around 
the corner Into the crowded street. The clerk ran 
out crying "Stop thief!" The rascal eluded attention 




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320 



VANITY. 



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by taking up the cry and vociferating as if of one 
-^head, ''Stop thief! stop thief!" 

It takes a bloodthirsty wretch to be a prosecutor 
and inquisitor. The vulture loves to disembowel his 
victim and wet his beak in blood. Who ever heard 
of a dove rending the breast of a robin, or a lamb 
sucking f he blood of a kid ? Hawks and tigers de- 
light in t'ns. No ! nature will out. If Christianity 
has not cut off the claws, we incline to scratch some- 
body. If Christ possesses us wholly, and we have 
been transformed by His spirit, there is no disposi- 
tion to stone our neighbor, even if at fault. It is not 
in the genius of Christianity to do it. It is a cancer 
in the soul that must be cut out, or burned out, or 
purged out of the blood, or it will kill us. 

Alexander had an ugly scar on his forehead, received 
in battle. When the great artist painted his portrait, 
he sketched him leaning on his elbow, with his finger 
covering the scar on his forehead. There was the 
likeness with the scar hidden. So let us study to 
paint each other with the finger of charity upon the 
scar of a brother, hiding the ugly mark and revealing 
only the beautiful, the true and the good. 



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This propensity pervades the whole human family, 
to a less or greater degree, as the atmosphere does 
t-he globe. It is the froth and effervescence of pride. 








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321 



The latter is unyielding haughtiness, the former, as 
soft, pliant, and light, as the down of a swan. It is 
selfishness modified and puffed up, like a bladder with 
wind. It is all action, but has no useful strength. It 
feeds voraciously and abundantly on the richest food 

/thai can be served up ; and can live on less and 
meaner diet, than anything of which we can have 3.;; 

^drtgeMiQa.. -The rich, poor, learned, ignorant, beaii- 
tifnl,^i^y, high, low, strong, and weak — all have a 
share of vanity. The humblest Christian is not free 
from it, and, when he is most humble, the devil will 
flatter his vanity by telling him of it. 

Vanity is ever striving to hide itself, like the pea- 
cock its ugly feet, and will even deny its own name. 
"/ speak without vanity'' — hush — you deceitful 
puff. You make men and women, the only animals 
that can laugh, the very ones^^to be laughed aO 
Dr. Johnson once remarked, ''Wherf^any one com-^ 
plains of the want of what he is known to possess in 
an eminent degree, he waits, with impatience, to be 
contradicted," and thus vanity converts him into a fool 
and a liar, only to render him ridiculous. Vanity 
engenders affectation, mock modesty, and a train of 
such Hke et ceteras ; all subtracting from the real 
dignity of man. On the other hand, it feeds, with 
equal voracity on vulgarity, coarseness, and fulsome 
eccentricity ; every thing by which the person can 
attract attention. It often takes liberality by the 
hand, prompts advice, administers reproof, and some- 
times perches, visibly and gaily, on the prayers and 
sermons in the pulpit. It is an every where and ever 



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322 



PRIDE. 



present principle of human nature — a wen on the 
heart of man ; less painful, but quite as loathsome as 
a cancer. It is, of all others, the most baseless pro- 
pensity. 

We have nothing of which we should be vain, but 
much to induce humility. If we have any good quali- 
ties they are the gift of God ; in the best of men 
there are bad ones enough, if they can see them- 
selves, to strangle vanity. Let every one guard 
against this all-pervading principle. 



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He that is proud eats himself up. Pride is his own 
glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle ; and what- 
ever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed 
in the praise. Pride is like an empty bag, and who 
can stand such a thing ttpright? It is hollow and 
heartless ; and, like a drum, makes the more noise 
from Its very emptiness. What is there in us to 
Induce such a sentiment? Who can say, with truth, 
''I am better than my neighbor?" Some shrewd 
philosopher has said, that if the best man's faults were 
written on his forehead they would make him pull 
his hat over his eyes ! Ah, there is so much of good 
in those who are evil, and so much that is bad in the 
best, that it ill becomes us to judge our neighbors 
harshly, or set ourselves up to saints at their expense. 
Let those who feel above their fellows, view the 



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helo-hts above themselves, and realize their littleness ; 
for as there Is none so vile but that a viler hath been 
known, so there is no saint but a holier can be 
named. 

When one asked a philosopher what the great God 
was doing-, he replied, ''His whole employment is to 
lift up the humble and to cast down the proud." 
And, indeed, there is no one sin which the Almighty 
seems more determined to punish than this. The 
examples of God's displeasure against it are most 
strikingly exhibited in the history of Pharaoh, Heze- 
kiah, Haman, Nebuchadnezzar, and Herod. 

Pride is generally the effect of ignorance ; for pride 
and folly attend each other. Ignorance and pride 
keep constant company. Pride, joined with many 
virtues, chokes them all. Pride is the bane of happi- 
ness. Some people, says L'Estrange, are all quality^^ 
^' You would think they were made of nothing but tith 
and genealogy. The stamp of dignity defaces iii 
them the very character of humanity, and transports 
them to such a degree of haughtiness that they 
reckon it below themselves to exercise either good 
nature or good manners. It is related of the French /^ 
family of the Duke de Levis, that they have a picture 
in their pedigree in which Noah Is represented going 
into the ark, and carrying a small trunk, on which is 
written, ''Papers belonging to the Levis family." 
Pride is the mist that vapors round insignificance. 
We can conceive of nothing so little or ridiculous as 
pride. It is a mixture of insensibility and ill-nature, 
in which it is hard to say which has the largest share. 



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Pride is as loud a beggar as want, and a great deal 
more saucy. Knavery and pride are often united ; 
the Spartan boy was dishonest enough to steal a 
fox, but proud enough to let the beast eat out his 
vitals sooner than hazard detection. Pride break- 
fasted with Plenty, dined with Poverty, and suppered 
with Infamy. Pride had rather at any time go out of 
the way than come behind. 

Pride must have a fall. Solomon said, pride goeth 
before destruction. Of all human actions, pride the 
most seldom obtains its end ; for while it aims at 
honor and reputation, it reaps contempt and derision. 
Pride and ill-nature will be hated in spite of all the 
wealth and greatness in the world. Civility is always 
safe, but pride creates enemies. As liberality makes 
friends of enemies, so pride makes enemies of friends. 
Says Dean Swift: ''If a proud man makes me keep 
m)^ distance, the comfort is, he at the same time keeps 
his." Proud men have friends neither in prosperity, 
because they know nobody ; nor in adversity, because 
nobody knows them. There is an honest pride, such 
as makes one ashamed to do an evil act ; such a 
degree of self-esteem as makes one above doing an 
injury to any one ; but it is the pride which sets one 
above his fellows that we deprecate ; that spirit which 
would demand homage to itself as better and greater 
than others. In the name of good sense, how can 
any one feel thus, when it is realized that the entire 
life of a man is but a moment in the scale of eternity ; 
and that in a few short days, at most, we must all go 
from here. When the soul is about to depart, what 






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PRIDE. 



avails it whether a man die upon a throae or in the 
dust? 

Pride is a virtue — let not not the moralist be scan- 
dalized. Pride is also a vice. Pride, like ambition, 
is sometimes virtuous and sometimes vicious, accord- 

■ ing to the character in which it is found, and the 

■ object to which, it is directed. As a principle, it is\ 
--the parent of alj:hbst-€very virtue, and every vice — 

everyjliing- that pleases and displeases in mankind; 
and as the effects are so very different, nothing is 
more easy than to discover, even to ourselves, whether 
the pride that produces them is virtuous or vicious. 
The first object of virtuous pride is rectitude, and the 
next independence. Pride may be allowed to this or 
that degree, else a man cannot keep up his dignity. 
In gluttony there must be eating, in drunkenness 
tHere must be drinking ; 'tis not. the eating, nor 'tis^J^ 
not the drinking that must be blamed, but the excess. ""^' 
So in pride. 

Pride and poverty, when combined, make a man's 
life up-hill work. Pomposity in a hovel ! A gaudy 
parlor, meagre kitchen, and empty cupboard ! Rag- 
ged aristocracy ! What shifts there are among this 
class to hide their rags, and to give everything a 
golden tinge. Among them you see a rich frosted 
cake and red wine in the parlor, and a dry crust, 
dryer codfish, and bad coffee in the kitchen. Broad- 
cloth hides a ragged shirt. Polished boots hide tat- 
tered stockings. Fortune's toys, she kicks them 
about as she likes. The higher they look the lower 
they sink. The gaudy side out, rags and starvation 



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326 



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PRIDE. 







within. Oh ! the pangs of pride ! What misery is 
here covered up. Smiles abroad, tears at home. An 
eternal war with want on one hand, and proud ambi- 
tion on the other. This trying" to be ''somebody,'* 
and this forgetting that it is not necessary to be gold- 
washed, and to have a silver spoon in one's mouth, in 
order to reach that envied good in life's journey. 
There are plenty of ''somebodies" among the honest 
poor, and plenty of "nobodies" among the dainty 
rich. Pride and poverty are the most ill-assorted 
companions that can meet. They live in a state of 
continual warfare, and the sacrifices they exact from 
each other, like those claimed by enemies to establish 
a hollow peace, only serve to increase their discord. 

Proud persons in general think of nothing but 
themselves, and imagine that all the world thinks 
about them too. They suppose that they are the 
subject of almost every conversation, and fancy every 
wheel which moves in society has some relation to 
them. People of this sort are very desirous of 
knowing what is said of them, and as they have no 
conception that any but great things are said of them, 
they are extremely solicitous to know them, and often 
put this question: "Who do men say that I am?" 

Pride is the ape of charity. In show they are not 
much unlike, but somewhat fuller of action. In seek- 
ing the one, take heed thou light not upon the other. 
They ar^ two parallels never put asunder. Charity 
feeds the poor, so does pride ; charity builds a hospi- 
tal, so does pride. In this they differ: charity gives 
her glory to God, pride takes her glory from man. 





When flowers are full of heaven- descended dews, 
they always hang their heads ; but men hold theirs the 
higher the more they receive, getting proud as they 
get full. 

Likeness begets love, yet proud men hate each 
other. Pride makes us esteem ourselves ; vanity 
makes us desire the esteem of others. It is just to 
say that a man is too proud to be vain. The pride of 
wealth is contemptible ; the pride of learning is 
pitiable ; the pride of dignity is ridiculous ; but the 
pride of bigotry is insupportable. To be proud ol 
knowledge is to be blind in the light ; to be proud of 
virtue, is to poison yourself with the antidote ; to be 
proud of authority is to make your rise your down- 
fall. The sun appears largest when about to set, so 
does a proud man swell most magnificently just before 
an explosion. e^?^ 

No two feelings of the human mind are mor 
opposite than pride and humility. Pride is founded on a 
high opinion of ourselves ; humility on the conscious- 
ness of the want of merit. Pride is the offspring of 
ignorance ; humility is the child of wisdom. Pride 
hardens the heart ; humility softens the temper and 
the disposition. Pride Is deaf to the clamors of con- 
science ; humility listens with reverence to the monitor 
within ; and finally, pride rejects the counsels of rea- 
son, the voice of experience, the dictates of religion ; 
while humility, with a docile spirit, thankfully receives 
instruction from all who address her In the garb of 
truth. "Of all trees," says Felthem, "I observe 
God hath chosen the vine — a low plant that creeps 



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328 



PRIDE. 



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upon the helpful wall ; of all beasts, the soft and 
pliant lamb ; of all fowls, the mild and guileless dove. 
When God appeared to Moses, it was not in the 
lofty cedar, nor in the spreading palm, but a bush, an 
humble, abject bush. As if he would, by these selec- 
tions, check the conceited arrogance of man." Noth- 
ing produces love like humility ; nothing hate like 
pride. It was pride that changed angels into devils ; 
it is humility that makes men as angels. 

There are as good horses drawing in carts as in 
coaches ; and as good men are engaged in humble 
employments as in the highest. The best way to 
humble a proud man is to take no notice of him. 
Men are sometimes accused of pride, merely because 
their accusers would be proud themselves if they were 
in their places. There are those who despise pride 
with a greater pride. To quell the pride, even of the 
greatest, we should reflect how much we owe to 
others, and how little to ourselves. Other vices 
choose to be in the dark, but pride loves to be seen in 
the light. The common charge against those who 
rise above their condition, is pride Proud looks make 
foul work in fair faces. 

When a man's pride is thoroughly subdued, it is 
like the sides of Mount ^tna. It was terrible while 
the eruption lasted and the lava flowed ; but when 
that is past, and the lava is turned into soil, it grows 
vineyards and olive trees up to the very top. 



r 






FOPS AND DANDIES. 



'tf^^ Htllt MEIldfe^^. 



Though great thy grandeur, man, may be, 
No pride of heart is meant for thee ; 
Let fools exult, presumption boast, 
The fops and dandies dwell in hosts. 



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e bi M^tida, the most beautiful of flowers,' 
eliiits no fragrance ; the bird of Paradise, the most 
beautiful of birds, gives no song ; the cypress ef 
Greece, the finest of trees, yields no fruit ; dandies, 
the shiniest of men, and ballroom belles, the loveliest 
of created creatures, generally have no sense. Dr. 
Holmes, in his ''Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," 
says: ''Dandies are not good for much, but they 
^ are good for something. They invent or keep in cir- 

V^rN^^f^Ctrdlation those conversational blanks, check^'or coun- 
Vi^m ^^^^' which intellectual capitalists may somelSries find 
it worth their while to borrow of them. They are 
useful, too, in keeping up the standard of dress, 
which, but for them, would deteriorate and become, 
what some old folks would have it, a matter of con- 
venience, and not of taste and art. Yes, I like dan- 
dies well enough --on one condition, that they have 
pluck. I find that lies at the bottom of all true dan- 
dyism." 

A man, following the occupation of wood cutting, 
wrought with exemplary zeal during the six working 
days, hoarding every cent not required to furnish 
him with the most frugal fare. As his "pile" 
increased, he invested it in gold ornaments — watch 






T^<o 




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^^^ 



C^% 



\u 





FOPS AND DANDIES. 



chains of massive links, shirt and sleeve buttons, shoe 
buckles, then buttons for vest and coat, a hat band of 
the precious metals, a heavy gold-headed cane — and, 
in short, wherever an ounce of it could be bestowed 
upon his person, in or out of taste, it was done. 
The glory of his life, his sole ambition, was to don 
his curious attire (which was deposited for safe keep- 
ing during the week in one of the banks) on Sunday 
morning, and then spend the day, the ''observed of 
all observers," lounging about the office or bar-room 
of a prominent hotel. He never drank, and rarely 
spoke. Mystery seemed to envelope him. No one 
knew whence he came or the origin of his innocent 
whim. Old citizens assured you that, year after 
year, his narrow savings were measured by the 
increase of his ornaments, until, at length, the value 
of the anomalous garments came to be estimated by 
thousands of dollars. By ten o'clock on Sunday 
night the exhibition was closed ; his one day of self- 
gratification enjoyed, his costly wardrobe was returned 
to the bank vault, and he came back into the obscu- 
rity of a wood chopper. Many may think that this man 
was a fool, and very much unlike the ordinary young 
man ; but not so. Many young men do the same, 
only their cloth, their gaudy apparel are not so dur- 
able ; and they are not so economical ; do not invest 
in so valuable material, but spend their entire income 
(and sometimes more) just to carry a stylish, shiny 
suit worth about fifty dollars. 

There are a thousand fops made by art for one fool 
made by nature. How ridiculous a sight, says Dr. 




:t. 



' ' ■/ 



m 



*'*iii 



m. 




m 



FOPS AND DANDIES. 



331 






Fuller, is a vain young- gallant, that bristles with his 
plumes and shakes his giddy head ; and to no other 
purpose than to get possession of a mistress who is 
as much a trifle as himself! The little soul that con- 
verses of nothing of more importance than the look- 
ing-glass and a fantastic dress, may make up the show 
oL the world ; but must not be reckoned among the 
rational inhabitants of it. A man of wit may some- 
times, but a man of judgment and sense never can, 
be a coxcomb. A beau dressed out, is like a cinna- 
mon tree — the bark is worth more than the body. 
An ass is but an ass, though laden or covered with 
g"old. Fops are more attentive to what is showy 
than mindful of what is necessary. A fop of fashion 
is said to be the mercer's friend, the tailor's fool, and 
his own foe. Show and substance are often united, 
Mh an object and its shadow, the sun and its glory^ the 
soul and body, mind and its outward actions, love an< 
its face of sweetness. And on this account men have 
associated the two so closely together as often to 
mistake the one for the other, and hence have sought 
for show as though it were substance, and deceivers 
have put the former in place of the latter to cheat 
the world thereby. 

Show paints the hypocrite's face and wags the liar's 
tongue. To discriminate between show and sub- 
stance, to determine what is show and what is sub- 
stance, and what are substance and show, is a work 
of critical judgment, and one upon which the excel- 
lency, majesty, and strength of our life in no small 
degree depends. There is show without substance, 




FOPS AND t)ANDIES. 



there is substance without show, there is substance 
and show together. 

Dandies and fops are like a body without soul, 
powder without ball, lightning without thunderbolt. 
It is dress on a doll, paint on sand. There is much 
of this in the world. We see it in respect to every 
thing considered valuable. The counterfeiter gives 
the show of gold to his base coin, and the show of 
value to his lying bank note. The thief hangs out 
the appearance of honesty on his face, and the liar is 
thunderstruck if anybody suspects him of equivoca- 
tion. The bankrupt carries about him the insignia of 
wealth. The fop puts on the masquerade of dignity 
and importance, and the poor belle, whose mother 
washes to buy her plumes, outshines the peeress ol 
the court. Many a table steams with costly viands 
for which the last cent was paid, and many a coat, 
sleek and black, swings on the street and in the saloon 
on which the tailor has a moral mortgage. Often do 
the drawing-room and parlor, the wardrobe and coach, 
speak of wealth and standing when, if they were not 
dumb deceivers, they would cry out ''It's all a lie.'* 
This is show without substance in domestic life. It 
is the grandest lie of the world, and cheats more poor 
people out of their birthright than any other one 
species of wicked show. All their thoughts, and 
labors, and money, and credit are spent to fabricate a 
gorgeous cheat to the world, to make themselves 
appear to be what they are not; when, If they would 
be honest, and labor for the true substance of life, 
they might be, in reality, vv^hat they are clownishly 








M~ — 




FASHION. 



333 







k^' 




X 




\f=N. 




aping. They cheat their souls out of honesty, and a 
respectable and comfortable moral character, their 
bodies out of the substance of a good living, them- 
selves out of a good name among their fellows ; yea, 
they cheat every thing but the very world they intend 
to cheat. That world sees through their gossamer, 
show, and lauQ^hs at the foolishness which seeks tci. 
conceal a want ©f substance. 

It is a general sin, to which there are but few 
exceptions ; a great falsehood, which almost every 
man is striving to make greater. This great evil 
turns society into a grand show-room, in which the 
most dextrous show-master wears the tallest plume. 
Besides the sinfulness of the thing, it is a great 
domestic bane. It makes the poor poorer, and the 
rich more avaricious. It causes almost every body 
to over-live, over-dress, over-ea^, over-act in every 
thing that will make a show. It is a great root of 
selfishness, a' great weight of oppression, a great sink 
of meanness, a great burden of woe, a great cloud of 
despair. 



\ 



^^>f.4'^ 



i-5->-5- 



No HEATHEN god or goddess has ever had more 
zealous devotees than fashion, or a more absurd and 
humiliating ritual, or mere mortifying and cruel pen- 
ances. Her laws, like those of the Medes and Per 





f " 





334 



FASHION 



sians, must be implicitly obeyed, but unlike them, 
chancre, as certainly as the moon. They are rarely 
founded in reason, usually violate common sense, 
sometimes common decency, and uniformly common 
comfort. 

Fashion rules the world, and a most tyrannical mis- 
tress she is — compelling people to submit to the 
most inconvenient things imaginable for her sake. 
She pinches our feet with tight shoes, or chokes us 
with a tight neckerchief, or squeezes the breath out 
of our body by tight lacing. She makes people sit 
up by night, when they ought to be in bed, and keeps 
them in bed in the morning when they ought to be 
up and doing. She makes it vulgar to wait upon 
one's self, and genteel to live idly and uselessly. 
She makes people visit when they would rather stay 
at home, eat when they are not hungry, and drink 
when they are not thirsty. She invades our pleas- 
ures and interrupts our business. She compels 
people to dress gaily, whether upon their own pro- 
perty or that of others — whether agreeably to the 
word of God or the dictates of pride. 

Fashion, unlike custom, never looks at the past as 
a precedent for the present or future. She Imposes 
unanticipated burdens, without regard to the strength 
or means of her hoodwinked followers, cheating them 
out of time, fortune and happiness ; repaying them 
with the consolation of being ridiculed by the wise, 
endangering health and wasting means ; a kind of 
remuneration rather paradoxical, but most graciously 
received. Semblance and shade are among her attri- 




\ I 





butes. It Is of more importance for her worshipers 
to appear happy than to be so. 

Fashion taxes without reason and collects without 
mercy. She first infatuates the court and aristocracy, 
and then ridicules the poor if they do not follow in 
the wake, although they die in the ditch. This was 
exemplified in the reign of Richard III., who was 
humpbacked. Monkey-like, his court, at the dictum 
of.fashion, all mounted a bustle on their backs, and. 
as this was not an expensive adjunct, the whole 
nation became humpbacked — emphatically a crooked 
generation — from the peasant to the king, all were 
humped. 

If she require oblations from the four quarters of 
the globe, they must be had, if wealth, health and 
happiness are the price. If she fancy comparative 
a,akedness for winter, or five thicknesses of woolei 
for dog days — and speaks, and it is don^/^: 
order the purple current of life and the organs of 
respiration to be retarded by steel, whalebone, buck- 
ram, drill, and cords — it is done. Disease laughs 
and death grins at the folly of the goddess and the 
zeal of the worshipers. If she order a bag full of 
notions on the hips, a Chinese shoe on the foot, a 
short cut, a trail, a hoop, or balloon sleeve, or no sleeve, 
for a dress, and a grain fan bonnet, or fool's cap for 
the head, she is obsequiously obeyed by the exquis- 
itely fashionable ladies and lauded by their beaux. If 
she order, her male subjects, the Mordecais and Dan- 
iels, tremble at the gong sound of trumpet-tongued 
ridicule. Not only the vain and giddy, the thought- 



Is 




336 




FASHION. 





less and rattlebrained, dance attendance 
but many a statesman and philosopher. 

The empress at Paris, or other ladies of rank, do 
not originate the fashions, neither do any ladies of 
real rank and distinction ; they adopt them, and thus 
set the seal of their acknowledged authority upon 
them, but no lady would be the first to wear a striking- 
novelty, or a style so new, or so ozttre as to be likely 
to attract public attention. This is left for the leaders 
of the demi-monde, several of whom are in the pay 
of Parisian dress-makers and modistes. The noted 
Worth, the man-milliner of Paris, who receives all the 
money and exercises all the impudence which have 
placed him at the head of his profession, while women 
do all the work, has in his employ a dozen fashion 
writers and several of the most noted leaders of 
Parisian society. These latter are selected for their 
fine appearance and dashing manners. Toilettes, 
equipages and boxes at the theatre and opera are 
provided for them. Dead or dying, they are required 
to show themselves at these places on all suitable 
occasions, in extraordinary dresses made by the ''re- 
nowned" Worth, as the fashion correspondents say, 
who in this way take up the burden of the song, and 
echo it even upon these Western shores. It is the 
height of ambition with some American women to go 
to Paris, and have a dress made by Worth ; and 
dearly do they sometimes pay for their folly, not only 
in immense prices for very small returns, but in de- 
grading their American womanhood by following in so 
disgraceful a scramble with so mixed an assemblage. 



111 
















FASHION. 



Fashion is the foster mother of vanity, the offal of 
pride, and has nursed her pet, until it is as fat as a 
sea turtle, is quite as wicked to bite, and harder to 
kill ; but, unlike that inhabitant of the herring pond, 
instead of keeping zn a shell, it is mounted 07i a shell, 
adorned with every flummery, intruding into all the 
avenues of life, scattering misery far and wide — 
faithless, fearless, uncompromising and tyrannical. 

Then the example of a fashionable woman, how 
low, how vulgar ! With her the cut of a collar, the 
depth of a flounce, the style of a ribbon, is of more 
importance than the strength of a virtue, the form of 
a mind, or the style of a life. She consults the fash- 
ion plate oftener than her Bible; she visits the dry 
goods shop and the milliner oftener than the church. 
She speaks of fashion oftener than of virtue, and 
follows it closer than she does her Savior. She can 
see squalid misery and low-bred vice without a blush 
or a twinge of the heart ; but a plume out of fashion, 
or a table set in old style, would shock her into a 
hysteric fit. Her example ! What is it but a breath 
of poison to the young? We had as soon have vice 
stalking bawdily in the presence of our children, as 
the graceless form of fashion. Vice would look 
haggard and mean at first sight, but fashion would 
be gilded into an attractive delusion. Oh, fashion ! 
how thou art dwarfing the intellect and eating out the 
heart of our people ! Genius is dying on thy luxuri- 
ous altar. And what a sacrifice ! Talent is wither- 
ing into weakness in thy voluptuous gaze ! Virtue 
gives up the ghost at thy smile. Our youth are 







v; 




338 



FASHION. 



^ 




chasing after thee as a wanton In disguise. Our 
young women are the victims of thine all-greedy lust. 
And still thou art not satisfied, but, like the devour- 
ing grave, criest for more. 

Friendship, its links must be forged on fashion's 
anvil, or it is good for nothing. How shocking to be 
friendly with an unfashionable lady ! It will never do. 
How soon one would lose caste ! No matter if her 
mind is a treasury of gems, and her heart a flower 
garden of love, and her life a hymn of grace and 
praise, it will not do to walk on the streets with her, 
or intimate to anybody that you know her. No, one's 
intimate friend must be a la mode. Better bow to 
the shadow of a belle's wing than rest in the bosom 
of a ''strong-minded" woman's love. 

And love, too, that must be fashionable. It would 
be unpardonable to love a plain man whom fashion 
could not seduce, whose sense of right dictated his 
life, a man who does not walk perpendicular in a 
standing collar, and sport a watch-fob, and twirl a 
cane. And then then to marry him would be death. 
He would be just as likely to sit down in the kitchen 
as in the parlor ; and might get hold of the woodsaw 
as often as the guitar ; and very likely he would have 
the baby right up in his arms and feed it and rock it 
to sleep. A man who will make himself useful about 
his own home is so exceedingly unfashionable that it 
will never do for a lady to marry him. She would 
lose caste at once. 

Abused women generally outlive fashionable ones. 
Crushed and care-worn women see the pampered 



,# 



IM 







FASHION. 



daughters of fashion wither and die around them, and 
wonder why death in kindness does not come to take 
them away instead. The reason is plain : fashion kills 
more women than toil and sorrow. Obedience to 
fashion is a greater transgression of the laws of 
woman's nature, a greater injury to her physical and 
mental constitution, than the hardships of poverty 
and neglect. The slave-woman at her tasks will live 
and grow old and see two or three generations of her 
mistresses fade and pass away. The washerwoman, 
with scarce a ray of hope to cheer her in her toils, 
will live to see her fashionable sisters all die around 
her. The kitchen maid is hearty and strong, when 
her lady has to be nursed like a sick baby. It is a 
sad truth, that fashion-pampered women are almost 
worthless for all the great ends of human life. They 
have but little force of character ; they have still less 
power of moral will, and quite as little physical 
energy. They live for no great purpose in life ; they 
accomplish no worthy ends. They are only doll- 
forms in the hands of milliners and servants, to be 
dressed and fed to order. They dress nobody ; they 
feed nobody ; they instruct nobody ; they bless 
nobody, and save nobody. They write no books; 
they set no rich examples of virtue and womanly 
life. If they rear children, servants and nurses do 
it all, save to conceive and give them birth. And 
when reared what are they? What do they even 
amount to, but weaker scions of the old stock? 
Who ever heard of a fashionable woman's child exhib- 
iting any virtue or power of mind for which it became 





'/'/ 



i 




340 



DRESS. 



eminent? Read the biographies of our great and 
good men and women. Not one of them had a fash- 
ionable mother. They nearly all sprang from plain, 
strong-minded women, who had about as little to do 
with fashion as with the changing clouds. 

There is one fashion that never changes. The 
sparkling eye, the coral lip, the rose leaf blushing on 
the cheek, the elastic step, are always, in fashion. 
Health — rosy, bouncing, gladsome health — is never 
out of fashion ; what pilgrimages are made, what 
prayers are uttered for its possession ! Failing in 
the pursuit what treasures are lavished in concealing 
its loss or counterfeiting its charms ! Reader, if you 
love freedom more than slavery, liberty more than 
thraldom, happiness more than misery, competence 
more than poverty, never bow your knee to the god- 
dess fashion. 



T 



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f^'^^^ 



Looking upon the panoramic field of God's works, 
we must conclude that he has taken especial care to 
gratify the varying taste of his creatures. And more 
than this, we must conclude that he himself has an 
infinite taste, which finds an infinite pleasure in mak- 
ing and viewing this magnificent universe of flashing 
splendor and sombre sweetness, this field on field, 
system beyond system, far off where human eye can 
never reach, all shining and moving in an infinite 





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(^i^?m- 



DRESS. 



341 




!^1^^-' 

i* 



' 1 



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variety of forms, colors and movements. Moreover, 
we cannot but feel that God is a lover of dress. He 
has put on robes of beauty and glory upon all his 
works. Every flower is dressed in richness ; every 
field blushes beneath a mantle of beauty ; every star 
is veiled in brightness ; every bird is clothed in the 
habiliments of the most exquisite taste. The cattle 
upon the thousand hills are dressed by the hand 
divine. Who, studying God in his works, can doubt 
that He will smile upon the evidence of correct taste 
manifested by His children in clothing the forms He 
has made them? 

To love dress is not to be a slave of fashion ; to 
love dress only is the test of such homage. To 
transact the business of charity in a silk dress, and to 
go in a carriage to the work, injures neither the work 
nor the worker. The slave of fashion is one who 
assumes the livery of a princess and then omits the 
errand of the good human soul ; dresses in elegance 
and goes upon no good errand, and thinks and does 
nothing of value to mankind. It does, indeed, ap- 
pear, that the woman of our land is moving against 
all the old enemies of society. She herself rises and 
is helping others. 

Beauty in dress is a good thing, rail at it who may. 
But it is a lower beauty, for which a higher beauty 
should not be sacrificed. They love dress too much 
who give it their first thought, their best time, or all 
their money ; who for it neglect the culture of mind 
or heart, or the claims of others on their service ; 
who care more for the", dress than their disposition; 




iife'^, 



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-'^i^W 



^:^ 











342 



A. 




who are troubled more by an unfashionable bonnet 
than a neglected duty. 

Female loveliness never appears to so good advan- 
tage as when set off by simplicity of dress. No artist 
ever decks his angels with towering feathers and 
gaudy jewelry ; and our dear human angels — if they 
would make good their title to that name — should 
carefully avoid ornaments which properly belong to 
Indian squaws and African princesses. These tinsel 
ries may serve to give effect on the stage, or upoi\ 
the ball-room floor, but in daily life there is no sub 
stitute for the charm of simplicity. A vulgar taste is 
not to be disguised by gold and diamonds. The 
absence of a true taste and refinement of delicacy can- 
not be compensated for by the possession of the most 
princely fortune. Mind measures gold, but gold can- 
not measure mind. Through dress thfc mind may be 
read, as through the delicate tissue the lettered page. 
A modest woman will dress modestly ; a really refined 
and intelligent woman will bear the marks of careful 
selection and faultless taste. 

A coat that has the mark of use upon it is a recom- 
mendation to people of sense, and a hat with too 
much nap and too high lustre a derogatory circum- 
stance. The best coats in our streets are worn on 
the backs of penniless fops, broken down merchants, 
clerks with pitiful salaries, and men who do not pay 
up. The heaviest gold chains dangle from the fobs 
of gamblers and gentlemen of very limited means ; 
costly ornaments on ladies indicate to the eyes that 
are well opened, the fact of a silly lover or husband 



"""^ 





DRESS. 



3-43 



^ 



iA.^, 



cramped for funds. And when a pretty woman goes 
by in plain and neat apparel, it is the presumption 
that she has fair expectations, and a husband that can 
show a balance in his favor. For women are like 
books, too much gilding- makes men suspicious that 
the binding is the most important part. The body is 
the shell of the soul, and the dress is the husk of the 
body ; but the husk generally tells what the kernel is. 
^ As a fashionably dressed young lady passed some 
gentlemen, one of them raised his hat, whereupon 
another, struck by the fine appearance of the lady, 
made some inquiries concerning her, and was an- 
swered thus: ''She makes a pretty ornament in her 
father's house, but otherwise is of no use." 

The love of beauty and refinement belong to every 
true woman. She ought to desire, in moderation, 
pretty dresses, and delight in beautiful colors and 
di^ graceful fabrics ; she ought to take a certain, not to 
expensive, pride in herself, and be solicitous to have 
all belonging to her well-chosen and in good taste ; to 
care for the perfect ordering of her house, and har- 
mony and fitness of her furniture, the cleanliness of 
her surroundings, and good style of her arrange- 
ments : she ought not to like singularity, either of 
habit or appearance, or be able to stand out against 
a fashion when fashion has become custom : she ought 
to make herself conspicuous only by the perfection of 
her taste, by the grace and harmony of her dress, and 
unobtrusive good-breeding of her manners : she 
ought to set the seal of gentlewoman on every square 
inch of her life, and shed the radiance of her own 






beauty and refinement on every material object 
about her. 

The richest dress is always worn on the soul. The 
adornments that will not perish, and that all men 
most admire, shine from the heart through this life. 
God has made It our highest, holiest duty to dress 
the soul He has given us. It is wicked to waste it in 
frivolity. It is a beautiful, undying, precious thing. 
If every young woman would think of her soul when 
she looks in the glass, would hear the cry of her 
naked mind when she dallies away her precious hours 
at her toilet, would listen to the sad moaning of her 
hollow heart, as it wails through her idle, useless life, 
something would be done for the elevation of woman- 
hood. Compare a well-dressed body with a well- 
dressed mind. Compare a taste for dress with a 
taste for knowledge, culture, virtue, and piety. Dress 
up an ignorant young woman in the ''height of fash- 
ion;" put on plumes and flowers, diamonds and gew- 
gaws ; paint her face and gird up her waist, and we 
ask you if, this side of a painted feathered savage, 
you can find any thing more unpleasant to behold. 
And yet just such young women we meet by the hun- 
dred every day on the street and in all our public 
places. It is awful to think of. Why is it so ? It is 
only because woman is regarded as a doll to be 
dressed — a plaything to be petted — a house ornament 
to exhibit — a thing to be used and kept from crying 
with a sugar-plum show. 

What multitudes of young women waste all that is 
precious in life on the finified fooleries of the toilet! 






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DRESS. 



How the soul of womanhood is dwarfed and shriveled 
by such trifles, kept away from the great fields of 
active thought and love by the gewgaws she hangs 
on her bonnet ! How light must be that thing which 
will float on the sea of passion — a bubble, a feather^ 
a puff-ball ! And yet multitudes of women float there, 
live there, and call it life. Poor things ! Scum oiX /' 
the surface! But, there is a truth, young wornen f', 
woman was made for a higher purpose, a nobler use, 
a gr^rider destiny. Her powers are rich and strong; 
her genius bold and daring. She may walk the fields 
of thought, achieve the victories of mind, spread 
around her the testimonials of her worth, and make 
herself known and felt as man's co-worker and equal 
in whatsoever exalts mind, embellishes life, or sancti- 
fies humanity. 

The true object and importance of taste in dress 
few understand. Let no woman suppose that anyH 
man can be really indifferent to her appearance. The 
instinct may be deadened in his mind by a slatternly, 
negligent mother, or by plain maiden sisters ; but she 
may be sure it is there, and, with little adroitness, 
capable of revival. Of course, the immediate effect 
of a well chosen feminine toilet operates differently 
in different minds. In some, it causes a sense of 
actual pleasure ; in others, a consciousness of passive 
enjoyment. In some, it is intensely felt while it is 
present ; in others only missed when it is gone. 

Dress affects our manners. A man who Is badly 
dressed feels chilly, sweaty, and prickly. He stam- 
mers, and does not always tell the truth. He means 








^v^ 




to, perhaps, but he can't. He is half distracted about 
his pantaloons, which are much too short, and are 
constantly hitching up ; or his frayed jacket and 
crumpled linen harrow his soul and quite unman him. 
He treads on the train of a lady's dress, and says 
"Thank you," sits down on his hat, and wishes the 
*' desert were his dwelling place." 

A friend of ours, who had long been absent, 
returned and called upon two beautiful young ladies 
of his acquaintance. One came quickly to greet him 
in the neat, yet not precise attire, in which she was 
performing her household duties. The other, after 
the lapse of half an hour, made her stately entrance, 
in all the primness of starch and ribbons, with which, 
on the announcement of his entrance, she had hast- 
ened to bedeck herself Our friend, who had long 
been hesitating on his choice between the two, now 
hesitated no longer. The cordiality with which the 
first hastened to greet him, and the charming care- 
lessness of her attire, entirely won his heart. She is 
now his wife. Young ladies, take warning from the 
above, and never refuse to see a friend because, 
you have on a wash-gown. Be assured the trut 
gentleman will not think less of you because he finds 
you in the performance of your duties, and not 
ashamed to let it be known. Besides, there ma) 
positively be a grace, a witching wlldness about ari 
every-day dress, that adds to every charm of face and 
feature. 






\\ W'\ 






CHURCH DRESS. 



347 



ittnn. 



rfe 



The best bred people oi^ every Christian country 
but our own avoid all personal display when engaged 
in worship and prayer. Our churches, on the con- 
trary, are made places for the exhibition of fine 
apparel and other costly, flaunting compliances with 
fashion, by those who boast of superior wealth and 
manners. We shall leave our gewgawed devotees 
to reconcile humiliation in worship with vanity in 
dress. That is a problem which we confess we have 
neither the right nor the capacity to solve. How far 
fine clothes may affect the personal piety of the 
devotee we do not pretend even to conjecture ; but 
we have a very decided opinion in regard to their 
influence upon the religion of others. The fact is, 
that our churches are so fluttering with birds of fine 
feathers, that no sorry fowl will venture in. It is 
impossible for poverty in rags and patches, or even 
in decent but humble costume, to take its seat, if it 
should be so fortunate as to find a place, by the side 
of wealth in brocade and broadcloth. The poor are 
so awed by the pretension of superior dress and 
''the proud man's costume," that they naturally avoid 
too close a proximity to them. The church being 
the only place on this side of the grave designed for 
the rich and the poor to meet together in equal 
prostration before God, it certainly should always be 
kept free for this common humiliation and brother- 




a. 






>^ 



!^ 






L>-rr' 




hood. It is so in most of the churches in Europe, 
where the beggar in rags and wretchedness, and the 
wealthiest and most eminent, whose appropriate sobri- 
ety of dress leaves them without mark of external 
distinction, kneel down together, equalized by a com- 
mon humiliation before the only Supreme Being. 

No person can attend upon the services of any of 
our churches in towns and cities, and worship God 
without distraction. One needs continually to offer 
the prayer ''take off my eyes from beholding vanity." 
But he must be blind to have his prayer answered, 
for the sight of the eyes always affects the heart. 
There is the rustle of rich silks, the flutter of gay fans, 
the nodding of plumes and flowers ; the tilting of laces, 
of ribbons, of curls ; here is a head frizzed till it looks 
more like a picture of the Furies than that of a miss 
of ''sweet sixteen," and there is another with hair 
hanging full length, waxed and dressed to fourfold 
its quantity; there are bracelets and ear-rings, and 
fantasies of every sort and every hue ; everything 
that is absurd and foolish in fashion, and everything 
that is grotesque and ridiculous in the trying to ape 
fashion ; all these are before you, between you and 
the speaker, the altar whereon is laid the sacrifice of 
prayer, and from whence the truth is dispensed ! 
How can you worship God? how can you hear with 
any profit? 

With dress and fashion, its propriety, its sin or 
foll}^ in the abstract, we are not now dealing; only 
with its improper display in the house of God. If 
persons have the taste ^ and the means to gratify that 



F 



^yi-i 






^ 



:J 




: 



taste, n expensive, showy apparel, let them have it 
to display at home, or abroad, at parties, at the opera 
— anywhere, but in the sanctuary. 

The adoption of more simple apparel for church on 
the part of the rich, in this country, would have the 
efifect, certainly not of diminishing their own personal 
piety, but probably of increasing* the disposition for k/ 
religious observance on the part of the poor. 


















C/ft 





Manners are lifferent in every country ; but true 
politeness is everywhere the same. Manners, which 
take up so much of our attention, .^re only artificial 
helps which ignor:ince assumes in order to' imitate 
politeness, which 15 the result of good sense and 
good nature. A person possessed of those qualities, 
though he had nevei seen a court, is truly agreeable ; 
and if without them, would continue a clown, though 
he had been all his life a gentleman usher. He who 
assumes airs of importance exhibits his credentials of 
insignificance. There is no policy like politeness ; 
and a good manner is the best thing in the world to 
get a^good name, or to supply the want of it. Good 
manners are a part of good morals, and it is as 
much our duty as our Interest to practice in both. 
Good manners is the art of making those arouod us 
easy. Whoever makes the fewest persons uneasy is 



-^"^^W-^ 




I 

.V, 



h 

M 




^ 



'■£--^« 



350 



.MANNERS. 



I i 




the best bred man in the company. Good manners 
should begin at home. PoHteness it not an article to 
be worn in all dress only, to be put on when w^e have 
a complimentary visit. . A person never appears so 
ridiculous by the qualities he has, as by those he 
affects to have. He gains more by being contented 
to be seen as he is, than by attempting to appear 
what he is not. Good manners is the result of much 
good sense, some good nature, and a little self-denial, 
for the sake of others, and with a view to obtain the 
same indulgence from them. ''Manners make the 
man," says the proverb. It may be true that some 
men's manners have been the making of them ; but 
as manners are rather the expression of the man, it 
w^ould be more proper to say — the man makes the 
manners. Social courtesies should emanate from the 
heart, for remember always that the worth of manners 
consists In their being the sincere expression of feel- 
ings. Like the dial of the watch, they should indi- 
cate that the work within is good and true. 

The young should be mannerly, but they feel timid, 
bashful and self-distrustful the moment they are ad- 
dressed by a stranger, or appear in company. There 
is but one way to get over this feeling, and acquire 
easy and graceful manners, and that Is to do the best 
they can at home as well as abroad. Good manners 
are not learned so much as acquired by habit. They 
grow upon us by use. We must be courteous, agree- 
able, civil, kind, gentlemanly, and manly at home, and 
then it will become a kind of second nature every- 
where. A coarse, rough manner at home begets a 





m 



Alls 



^^^' 



mk 




MANNERS. 



351 




habit of roughness, which we cannot lay off if we try, 
when we go among strangers. The most agreeable 
persons in company are those who are the most 
agreeable at home. Home is the school for all the 
best things. 

Good manners are an essential part of life-educa- 
tion, and their importance cannot be too largely mag- 
nified, when we consider that they are the outward 
expression of an inward virtue. And how often is 
this exhibition of the virtues of frankness, gentleness 
and sweet simplicity, the safest and surest recommen- 
dation of those who come to us as strangers in quest 
of friendly aid. It is quite marvellous, from the fact 
that by no special training, no aristocratic examples, 
no conventionalities but those of nature, the gifts of 
good sense, a true sense of propriety and native tact, 
are sufficient qualifications to enable us to glide freely, 
and irreproachably among the elaborated subjects of 
a regal court. A foreigner once remarked to me, 
"An American is received in any circle in England," 
but were we boorish in manner, and without mental 
accomplishments, this privilege would not be ac- 
corded us. 

The true art of being agreeable is to appear well 
pleased with all the company, and rather to seem well 
entertained with them, than to bring entertainment to 
them. A man thus disposed, perhaps, may not have 
much sense, learning, nor any wit, but if he have 
common sense, and something friendly in his behavior, 
it conciliates men's minds more than the brightest 
parts without this disposition ; it is true indeed that 




I! 



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I 



c.^, 



we should not dissemble and flatter in company ; 'but 
a man may be very agreeable, strictly consistent with 
truth and sincerity, by a prudent silence where he 
cannot concur, and a pleasing assent where he can. 
Now and then you meet with a person so exactly 
formed to please that he will gain upon every one 
who hears or beholds him ; this disposition is not 
merely the gift of nature, but frequently the effect of 
much knowledge of the world, and a command over 
the passions. 

It is unfortunate that the agreeable should be so 
often found in unison with the frivolous, for frivolity 
makes great encroachments upon dignity. 

Levity of manners is prejudicial to every virtue. 
Avoid all sourness and austerity of manners. Virtue 
is a pleasant and agreeable quality, and gay and civil 
wisdom is always engaging. 

There are a thousand pretty, engaging little ways, 
which every person may put on, without running the 
risk of being deemed either affected or foppish. The 
sweet smile ; the quiet, cordial bow ; the earnest 
movement in addressing a friend — more especially 
a stranger — whom one may recommend to our good 
regards ; the inquiring glance ; the graceful attention, 
which is so captivating when united with self-posses- 
sion ; these will secure us the good regards of even 
a churl. Above all, there is a certain softness of 
manner which should be cultivated, and which, in 
either man or woman, adds a charm that always 
entirely compensates for a lack of beauty. 

Lord Chatham, who was almost as remarkable for 









iiS' 




^^^u^^^) 




353 



his manners as for his eloquence and public spirit, has 
thus defended good breeding: ''Benevolence is trifles, 
or a preference of others to ourselves in the little daily 
occurrences of life." 

Says Emerson, ''I wish cities would teach their best 
lesson — of quiet manners." It is the foible especially 
.of American youth — pretension. The mark of the/O 
n^an of -th^, worljjjs absence of pretension. He does- 
not make a ("speech; he takes a low business tone, 
avoicfe all brag, is nobody, dresses plainly, promis.es 
not at all, performs much, speaks in monosyllables, 
hugs his fact. He calls his employment by its lowest 
name, and so takes from evil tongues their sharpest 
weapon. His conversation clings to the weather and 
the news, yet he allows himself to be surprised into 
thought, and the unlocking of his learning and phi- 
losophy, r:)pK ffi::)cM 



One of the most marked tests of eMricMr Wt 
manner in which we conduct ourselves toward others. 
A graceful behavior toward superiors, inferiors, and 
equals, is a constant source of pleasure. It pleases 
others because it indicates respect for their personality, 
but it gives tenfold more pleasure to ourselves. Every 
man may to a large extent be a self-educator in good 
behavior, as in everything else ; he can be civil and 
kind, if he will, though he have not a penny in his 
purse. 

If dignity exist in the mind, it will not be wanting 
in the manners. When no seat was offered to the 
Indian chief Tecumseh, in the council, and he ex- 
claimed, in a spirit of elevated but offended pride, (at 








the same time wrapping- his blanket around him), 
"The sun is my father, and the earth is my mother, 1 
will recline upon her bosom," and then seated himself 
upon the ground, he displayed a striking instance of 
genuine and manly dignity. He might have stood 
for centuries, making Parisian attitudes and grimaces, 

" With studied gestures or well-practised smiles," 

and not have been half so noble, commanding and 
dignified, as by this sublime expression and this sim- 
ple act. 

Dr. Hall says: ''The language of a man is a rea- 
sonable good index of his character: the triffler 
abounds in slang words and slang phrases ; the vul- 
gar and low bred use most glibly the depreciative 
adjective ; they revel in the expletives of liar, scoun- 
drel, swindler ; the educated, the cultivated, and the 
refined, speak softly, quietly, gently; every word is 
uttered with composure, even under circumstances of 
aggravation ; if annoyed, their severest reproof is 
expressive silence ; and always they maintain their 
self-respect." 

Manners are the ornament of action ; and there is a 
way of speaking a kind word, or of doing a kind 
thing, which greatly enhances their value. What 
seems to be done with a grudge, or as an act of con- 
descension, is scarcely accepted as a favor. Yet 
there are men who pride themselves upon their gruff- 
ness ; and though they may possess virtue and capa- 
city, their manner is often formed to render them 
almost insupportable. It is difficult to like a man 



i 







who, though he may not pull your nose, habitually 
wounds your self-respect, and takes a pride in saying 
disagreeable things to you. There are others who 
are dreadfully condescending, and cannot avoid seiz- 
ing upon every small opportunity of making their 
greatness felt. 

The cultivation of manner — though in excess it Is 
foppish and foolish — is highly necessary in a person 
w):^p has occasion to negotiate with others in matters 
of business. Affability and good breeding may even 
be regarded as essential to the success of a man in 
any eminent station and enlarged sphere of life ; for 
the want of it has not unfrequently been found in a 
great measure to neutralize the results of much indus- 
try, integrity, and honesty of character. There are, 
no doubt, a few strong tolerant minds which can bear 
;vv;ith defects and angularities of manner, and look only 
b the more genuine qualities ; but the world at lar 
is not so forbearing, and cannot help forming its 
judgments and likings mainly according to outward 
conduct. 

Agreeable manners contribute wonderfully to a 
man's success. Take two men, possessing equal 
advantages in every other respect; but let one be 
gentlemanly, kind, obliging and conciliating ; the other 
disobliging, rude, harsh and insolent, and the one will 
become rich while the other will starve. 

Good manners are not only an embellishment to 
personal charms, but an excellent substitute for them 
when they do not exist. When the attractions of 
beauty have disappeared, there should be an elegance 






356 



MANNERS. 



I i-'V; 




and refinement of manner to supply their place. 
Beauty is the gift of nature, but manners are acquired 
by cultivation and practice ; and the neglect of them 
is seldom pardoned by the world, which exacts this 
deference to its opinions, and this conformity to the 
le-ast mistakable of its judgments 

The accomplishments so much esteemed in some 
parts of the world, may be disregarded elsewhere, 
but wisdom and virtue, intelligence and worth, are 
universally respected and appreciated, and exhibit 
that kind of deportment which is everywhere approved 
and honored. 

If Christianity had no higher recommendation than 
this, that it makes a man a gentleman, it would still 
be an invaluable element. The New Testament 
inculcates good manners. Our Savior was courte- 
ous even to his persecutors. Look at Paul before 
Agrippa ! His speech is a model of dignified cour- 
tesy as well as of persuasive eloquence. A spirit of 
kindly consideration for all men characterized the 
Twelve. The same mild, self-sacrificing spirit which 
pervaded the sayings and doings of the early disciples 
is exhibited by the true followers of the cross at the 
present day. A man, it is true, may be superficially 
polite without being a Christian ; but a Christian, by 
the very conditions of his creed and the obligations 
of his faith, is necessarily in mind and soul — and 
therefore in word and act — a gentleman. 









THE TRUE GENTLEMAN. 357 



When you have found a man, you have not far to 
go to hnd a gentleman. You cannot make a gold 
ring out of brass. You cannot change a Cape Mayi 
crystal to a diamondi - You cannot make a gentleman 
till yQu^first find a man. 

To be a gentleman it is not sufficient to have had a 
grandfather. To be a gentleman does not depend 
on the tailor or the toilet. Blood will degenerate. 
Good clothes are not good habits. 

A gentleman is a man who is gentle. Titles, grace- 
ful accomplishments, superior culture, princely wealth, 
great talents, genius, do not constitute a man with all 
Ihe attributes needed to make him a gentleman. He 
may be awkward, angular, homely, or poor, and ^et 
belong to the uncrowned aristocracy. His face may 
be bronzed at the forge or bleached in the mill, his 
hand huge and hard, his patched vest, like Joseph's 
coat of many colors, and he may still be a true gen- 
tleman. The dandy is a dry goods sign and not a 
gentleman, for he depends upon dress and not upon his 
honor and virtue, for his passport to the best circles 
of society. "The man who has no money is poor, 
he who has nothing but money is poorer than he," 
and is not a gentleman. Some of the most distin- 
guished men in the world of letters, in the world of 
art, have been unamiable, gross, vulgar, uno-entle 
consequently not gentlemen. 






\ 



a 











358 




THE TRUE 



The union of gentleness of manners with firmness 
of mind are noticeable in the true gentleman. When 
in authority, and having a right to command, his 
commands are delivered with mildness and gentleness, 
and willingly obeyed. Good breeding is the great 
object of his thoughts and actions, and he observes 
carefully the behavior and manners of those who 
are thus distinguished. 

It is a wrong notion which many have, that nothing 
more is due from them to their neighbors than what 
results from a principle of honesty, which commands 
us to pay our debts, and forbids us to do injuries ; 
whereas a gentleman gains the esteem of all by a 
thousand little civilities, complacencies, and endeavors 
to give others pleasure. 

He is careful to have thoughts and sentiments 
worthy of him, as virtue raises the dignity of man, 
while vice degrades him. True greatness lies in the 
heart ; it must be elevated by aspiring to great things; 
and by daring to think himself worthy of them. 
Others may attract us through the splendor of some 
special faculty, or the eminency of some special 
virtue, but In his case it is the whole individual we 
admire and love, and the faculty takes its peculiar 
character, the virtue acquires its subtile charm, 
because considered as an outgrowth of the beautiful, 
beneficent, and bounteous nature in which it had its 
root. He insults not the poor with condescension, nor 
courts the rich with servility, but takes his place on an 
easy equality and fraternity with all, without the 
pretense of being the inferior of any. 




5 



THE TRUE GENTLEMAN. 



There is true dignity in labor, and no true dignity 
without it. He who looks down scornfully on labor 
is like the man who had a mouth and no hands, and 
yet made faces at those who fed him — mocking the 
fingers that brought bread to his lips. He who writes 
a book, or builds a house, or tills a farm, or follows 
any useful employment, lives to some purpose, and 
d6nt4*ibutes something to the fund of human happiness, 
i^^^gribaldi, the greatest hero of the age, is a work- 
ing man. Daniel Webster knit his iron frame into 
strength by working on his father's farm when young. 

A gentleman is a human being, combining a 
woman's tenderness with a man's courage. He is 
just a gentleman : no more, no less ; a diamond 
polished that was first a diamond in the rough. A 
gentleman is gentle. A gentleman is modest. A 
^g^ntleman is courteous. A gentleman is slow t£ 
'take offense, as being one who never gipes it. 
gentleman is slow to surmise evil, as being one who 
never thinks it. A gentleman subjects his appetites. 
A gentleman refines his taste. A gentleman subdues 
his feelings. A gentleman controls his speech. A 
gentleman deems every other other better than him- 
self. 

Sir Philip Sydney was never so much of a gentle- 
man — mirror though he was of English knighthood 
— as when, upon the field of Zutphen, as he lay in 
his own blood, he waived the draught of cool spring 
water that was to quench his dying thirst, in favor of 
a dying soldier. • 

St. Paul describes a gentleman when he exhorted 




w^ 





360 



THE TRUE GENTLEMAN. 




the Philippian Christians: ''Whatsoever thing-s are 
true, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things 
are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report, if 
there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think 
of these things." And Dr. Isaac Barlow, in his 
admirable sermon on the callings of a gentleman, 
pointedly says: "He should labor and study to be a 
leader unto virtue, and a notable promoter thereof; 
directing and exciting men thereto by his exemplary 
conversation ; encouraging them by his countenance 
and authority ; rewarding the goodness of meaner 
people by his bounty and favor ; he should be such a 
g-entleman as Noah, who preached righteousness by 
his words and works before a profane world." 

One very frequently hears the remark made, that 
such and such a man "can be a gentleman when he 
pleases." Now when our reader next hears this 
expression made use of, let him call to mind the fol- 
lowing: He who "can be a gentleman when he 
pleases," never pleases to be anything else. A gen- 
tleman, like porcelain ware, must be painted before 
he is glazed. There can be no change after the 
burning in. 

The sword of the best-tempered metal is the most 
flexible. So the truly generous are the most pliant 
and courteous in their behavior to their inferiors. 

The true gentleman is one whose nature has been 
fashioned after the highest models. His qualities 
depend not upon fashion or manners, but upon moral 
worth — not on personal possessions, but on personal 
qualities The psalmist briefly describes him as one 



I 







THE TRUE GENTLEMAN. 



**that walketh uprlo-htly, and worketh righteousness, 
and speaketh the truth in his heart."' 

The gentleman is eminently distinguished by his 

self-respect. Revalues his character — not so much 

of it only as can be seen by others, but as he sees it 

/liimself, having regard for the approval of his inward 

^<^; monitor. And, as he respects himself, so, by tbe'i^,/, 

^^same law, does fe"^ respect others. Humanity is 

sacred in his eyes, and thence proceed politeness and 

forbearance, kindness and charity. 

The true gentleman has a keen sense of honor — 
scrupulously avoiding mean actions. His standard of 
probity in word and action is high. He does not 
shuffle nor prevaricate, dodge nor skulk ; but is hon- 
est, upright, and straitforward. His law is rectitude 
— -action in right lines. When he ssiys yes, it is a ^ 
V^ K^VS>"^law ; and he. dares to say the^ valie-^it ;26> at the 
fitting season. The gentleman will not be bribed ; 
only the low-minded and unprincipled will sell them- 
selves to those who are interested in buying them. 

Riches and rank have no necessary connection 
with genuine gentlemanly qualities. The poor man 
may be a true gentleman — in spirit and in daily life. 
He may be honest, truthful, upright, polite, temperate, 
courageous, self-respecting and self-helping — that is, 
be a true gentleman. The poor man with a rich 
spirit is in all ways superior to the rich man with a 
poor spirit. To borrow St. Paul's words, the former 
is as ''having nothing, yet possessing all things," 
while the other, though possessing all things, has 
nothing. The first hopes everything and fears noth- 





;5t' 






ing; the last hopes nothing- and fears everything. 
Only the poor in spirit are really poor. He who has 
lost all, but retains his courage, cheerfulness, hope, 
virtue and self-respect, is a true gentleman. 




WIT. 



ill. 



Sense is our helmet — wit is but a plume ; 
The plume exposes — 'tis our helmet saves. 

— Young 



Genuine wit may be compared to a kaleidoscope ; 
every time it is shaken, it presents new and beautiful 
figures. The latter pleases the eye, and enables 
carpet and calico manufacturers to obtain new designs 
for their work ; the former pleases us all over, with- 
out really benefiting us anywhere. Like lightning 
in a dark night, its illuminations are momentary in 
most cases. Sheridans and Hopkinsons are very 
rare. They were as highly charged with wit, as a 
cloud sometimes is with the electric fluid, emitting 
flashes in such quick succession, that darkness is 
scarcely visible. 

Wit, like a coquette, is pleasing company for the 
time being ; but no man, knowing her character, courts 
her with the intention of marriage, and no sensible 
man is long edified with her company. 

He who endeavors to oblige the company by his 
good-nature never fails of being beloved : he who 




WIT. 



363 



P 




strives to entertain it by his good sense never fails 
of being- esteemed ; but he who is continually aiming 
to be witty, generally miscarries of his aim ; his aim 
and intention is to be admired, but it is his misfortune 
either to be despised or detested — to be despised 
for want of judgment, or detested for want of humil- 
ity. For we seldom admire the wit when we dislike 
, he man. There are a great many to whom the world 
would be so charitable as to allow them to have a 
tolerable share of common sense, if they did not set 
up for something more than common, something very 
uncommon, bright, and witty. If we would trace the 
faults of conversation up to their original source, most 
of them might, we believe, be resolved into this, that 
men had rather appear shining than be agreeable in 
company. They are endeavoring to raise admiration 
^:^jLiistead of gaining love and good-will, whereas thej 
O^^Xdlt^r is in everybody's power, the former in thai 
very few. 

There is as much difference between wit and wis- 
dom, as between the talent of a buffoon and a states- 
man. Wit is brushwood, judgment is timber. The 
one gives the greatest flame, the other yields the 
most durable heat; and both meeting make the best 
fire. 

Wit and wisdom may be found in the same person, 
but when the former Is flashing. Its glare hides the 
latter. It serves to amuse and exhilarate, but rarely 
produces profitable reflection, or elevates sound com- 
mon sense. It is emphatically a plume, and exposes 
the head it ornaments to many an arrow from the 



/ d-i 






bow of revenge. Some wits had rather lose a friend 
than a keen, cutting- remark upon him. This has 
often occurred, and is exchanging treasure for trash. 
Wit may obtain many conquests, but no wilHng sub- 
jects. It is hke echo, it always has the last word. 
It is more difficult to manage than steam, and often 
wounds by its explosions. It produces many bon 
mots, and but few wise sayings. It is like "^some 
heartless sportsmen, who shoot every bird indiscrim- 
inately, and kill more innocent ones, unfit for food, 
than hawks, that prey upon our poultry. 

Wit loses its respect with the good when seen in 
company with malice ; and to smile at the jest which 
plants a thorn in another's breast, is to become a 
principal in the mischief 

Finally, flashing wit is an undefined and undefinable 
propensity — more to be admired than coveted; more 
ornamental than useful ; more volatile than solid ; a 
dangerous, sharp -edged tool, often cutting its most 
skillful master ; rarely imparting substantial benefits 
to mankind ; but often serious injury. 

Let your wit rather serve you for a buckler to 
defend yourself, by a handsome reply, than the 
sword to wound others, though with never so face- 
tious a reproach, remembering that a word cuts 
deeper than a sharp weapon, and the wound it makes 
is longer curing. Let those who have it, endeavor 
to control it, and those who have it not, can make 
better use of the sense they have. 



'^) 




>^ ^, 




}l-l 





God is the author of truth, the devil the father of 
lies. If the telling of a truth shall enclang-er thy life, 

y- ^ the Author of truth will protect thee from the danger^ . 

'"^i,;, or reward thee for thy damage. If the telling of a' 
'^ lie rnay secure thy life, the father of lies will beguile 
thee^of thy gains, or traduce the security. Better 
by losing of a life to save it, than by saving of a 
life to lose it. However, better thou perish than the 
truth. 

Herodotus tell us, in the first book of his history, 
that from the age of five years to that of twenty, the 
ancient Persians instructed their children only in 
three things, viz : to manage a horse, to shoot dex- 
terously with the bow and ^o speak jtMeii^i§h;,^^ff^SS^^ 
shows of how much importance they thought it 
to fix this virtuous habit on the minds of youth 
betimes. 

The smallest dew drop on the meadow at night 
has a star sleeping in its bosom, and the most insig- 
nificant passage of Scripture has in it a shining 
truth. Truth bears the impress of her own divinity, 
and, though reason may not be able to take cog- 
nizance of the fact, she may be filling the chambers 
of the soul with a light and glory that is not born of 
earth. 

The study of truth is perpetually joined with the 
love of virtue, for there is no virtue which derives not 





>-7^ 



.r-^ 



^^ 




Pi$ 



\66 



TRUTH. 



its original from truth, as, on the contrary, there is no 
vice which has not its beginning from a he. Truth is 
the foundation of all knowledge and the cement of all 
society. 

The adorer of truth is above all present things. 
Firm in the midst of temptation, and frank in the 
midst of treachery, he will be attacked by those who 
have prejudices, simply because he is without them, 
decried as a bad bargain by all who want to purchase, 
because he alone is not to be bought, and abused by 
all parties because he is the advocate of none ; like 
the dolphin, which is always painted more crooked 
than a ram's horn, although every naturalist knows 
that it is the straightest fish that swims. 

Truth is a standard according to which all things 
are to be judged. When we appeal to it, it should 
be with sincerity of purpose and honesty of feeling. 
Divesting ourselves of all partiality, passion, paradox, 
and prejudice — of every kind of sophistry, subter- 
fuge, chicanery, concealment and disguise, and laying 
the soul open to what is honest, right, and true, our 
only desire should be to judge of things as they really 
are, and candidly and truly to acknowledge and receive 
them as such. For this is truth — the perception and 
representation of things as they are. 

Truth, divine in its nature and pure before heaven, 
is the foundation of all human excellence, the key- 
stone of all sincere affection, and the seal of true 
discipleship with the Good Shepherd. It is impossi- 
ble to love one in whose truthfulness we cannot 
confide ; or to slight one, whose words, and purposes, 



'■J 





and actions, are ''without dissimulation." Truth, or 
silence, should be our alternative ; and we should not 
disturb the "soul's sweet complacency," by addicting" 
ourselves to the too frequent deceptions of "good 
breeding," or the " necessary subterfuges of society." 
Good breeding needs not to be sustained or appre- 
ciated through falsehood or affectation, and a social 
system which involves the practice of subterfuge is 
'wrong in its basis and corroding in its tendency. Into 
God's holy place — our hoped-for future home, and 
after the ineffable beauty of which every earthly 
household, and circle, and human heart should be 

modeled — nothing can enter which "loveth or maketh 

1* )> 
le. 

No bad man ever wished that his breast was made 
of glass, or that others could read his thoughts. But 
je misery is, that the duplicities, the temptations, and 
he infirmities that surround us have rendered: 
truth, and nothing but the truth, as hazardous and 
contraband a commodity as a man can possibly deal 
in. Woe to falsehood! it affords no rehef to the 
breast like truth; it gives us no comfort, pains him 
who forges it, and like an arrow directed by a god, 
flies back and wounds the archer. If a man be sin- 
cerely wedded to truth, he must make up his mind to 
find her a portionless virgin, and he must take her for 
herself alone. The contract, too, must be to love, 
cherish, and obey her, not only until death, but beyond 
it ; for this is a union that must survive not only death, 
but time, the conqueror of death. There is nothing 
which all mankind venerate and admire so much as 



K^ 



(B 






SpP 






simple truth, exempt from artifice, duplicity, and 
design. It exhibits at once a strength of character 
and integrity of purpose in which all are willing to 
confide. 

Painters and sculptors have given us many ideal 
representations of moral and intellectual qualities and 
conceptions, and have presented us with the tangible 
forms of beauty and grace, heroism and courage, and 
many others. But which one of them will or can give 
us a correct and faithful delineation and embodiment 
of truth? — that we may place it upon our altars and ,. 

in our halls, in public and in private places, that it ^ t )i^D 
may be honored and worshiped in every home and in 
every heart ! 

We see in an instant the immense importance of 
acquiring and inculcating habits of the strictest truth. 
Whatever so essentially tends to the concord and 
felicity of society, it must be of momentous conse- 
quence to cherish and promulgate. No idea can be 
formed of the important effect such habits would pro- 
duce. The most perfect confidence would not be the 
least of its benefits, and the most perfect inward 
tranquility. For no species of deception can be 
practiced without causing vexation and trouble to the 
practicer, and many a cheek has blushed, and many a 
heart palpitated at the apprehended or realized 
detection of mistakes and exaggeration in common 
conversation. Exaggeration is but another name 
for falsehood ; to exaggerate is to pass the bounds 
of truth ; and how can those bounds be passed, 
without entering upon the precincts of falsehood. 






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A 







TRUTH. 



There can be but a true or a false representation. 
There can be no medium ; what is not true must be 
false. 

Of the public estimation in which truth is held, we 
have numerous examples. Every one can enter into 
i:he animating, the delightful emotion with which / 

^'._ Petrarch must have received the gratifying tribxitefe 
of public applause, when, on his appearing as wit- 
ness i^ a cause, and approaching the tribunal to take 
the accustomed oaths, he was informed that such 
was the confidence of the court in his veracity he 
would not be required to take any oath, his word was 
sufficient. 

Was not the praise bestowed on Petrarch a tacit 
avowal that veracity such as his was very rarely 

^ known ? Nothing can be more easy than to speak 
^truth ; the unwise, the poor, the ignoble, the youth- 
ful, can all equally practice it. Nothing can be more 
difficult than to speak falsely ; the wise, the rich, the 
great, the aged, have all failed in their attempts. It 
would be an easy road to distinction to be pre- 
eminent in an adherence to truth. We could enum- 
erate many besides Petrarch who have acquired 
respect by it among their fellow-citizens, and celebrity 
in the page of history. Can there be offered a more 
obtainable, a more gratifying, a more noble object of 
emulation to the youthful heart? 



24 




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t 



^' '% 





I\4 



/rtl 



370 



JUDGMENT. 



Iiirfgiweitl 




11 




It Is the office of judgment to compare the ideas 
received through the senses with one another, and 
thereby to gain right conceptions of things and 
events. Hence it by degrees forms for itself a stand- 
ard of duty and propriety, accumulates rules and 
maxims for conduct, and materials for reflection and 
meditation. 

The judgment not only receives, investigates, and 
arranges the ideas presented to it, but it also regu- 
lates and directs the other faculties, where their exer- 
tions may be most beneficial and compensating. It 
also restrains them from undue excursiveness, and 
prevents their wandering into unprofitable and vicious 
efforts. 

The most necessary talent in a man of conversa- 
tion, which is what we ordinarily intend by a gentle- 
man, is a good judgment. He that has this in per- 
fection is master of his companion, without letting 
him see it ; and has the same advantage over men of 
any other qualifications whatsoever, as one that can 
see would have over a blind man of ten times his 
strength. 

Judgment, too, is abused in its use, especially when 
used to judge others. Knaves try to help them- 
selves, by pretending to help others. Great inge- 
nuity, industry, and perservance are manifested in the 
modes of attack. False sympathy, flattery, a tender 
concern for your interest, bare-faced impudence and 



II 



<^^ 




JUDGiMENT. 



371 



hypocrisy, make their attacks hi front — whilst slan- 
der, falsehood, dark innuendoes, and damning- praise, 
assail the rear. Pliny says that Julius Caesar blamed 
so ingeniously, that his censures were mistaken for 
praise. Many, at the present day, praise only to 
reproach. As has been observed by an eminent wri- 
ter, "They use envenomed praise, which, by a side 
blow, exposes, in the person they commend, such 
faults as they dare not. In any other way, lay open." 
Deeply is the poison of calumny Infused In this way 
— -the venom of a coward, and the cunning of a 
knave combined. 

He that sees ever so accurately, ever so finely into 
the motives of other people's acting, may possibly be 
entirely ignorant as to his own : It Is by the mental as 
the corporal eye, the object may be placed too near 
the sight to be seen truly, as well as so far off ;^ P^y^^^ 
too near to be seen at all. -.^^ 



A RIGHT judgment 
Draws profit from all things we see. 

— Shakspeare. 



The great misfortune, arising from a disposition to 
judge others, and meddle with their affairs, consists 
in its being void of genuine philanthropy. Rare 
instances may occur when a person Intrudes himself 
upon another for good — but such intrusions are, ''like 
angels' visits, few and far between." It Is of the 
contrary, and by far more numerous class, that we 
speak — men and women, who look at others through 
a smoked glass — that they may avoid the brightness 



iH 









JUDGMENT. 

of the good qualities, and discover more clearly the 
bad — who first perform the office of the green fly, 
that other flies may prey upon the putridity they 
produce — scavengers of re-putation, who gather the 
faults, blemishes, and infirmities of their neighbors 
into a Pandora box — and there pamper them, like a 
turtle for a holiday dinner — until they are inflated to 
an enormous size; they are then thrown into the 
market, and astonish every beholder. 

Devils blush, and angels weep over such a dis- 
position as this. It is a canker worm in the body 
politic — the destroyer of reputation; the bane of 
peace in society ; the murderer of innocence ; a foul 
blot upon human nature ; a curse in community, and 
a disgrace to our species. 

Its baleful influence is felt, its demoniac effects are 
experienced, in all the walks of life. In the political 
arena — within the pale of the church, and in the 
domestic circle — its miasma is infused. The able 
statesman, the profound jurist, the eloquent advocate, 
the pulpit orator, the investigating philosopher, the 
skillful physician, the judicious merchant, the indus- 
trious mechanic, the honest farmer, the day laborer, 
the humblest peasant, the child in the nursery — have 
all experienced the scorpion lashes of this imp of 
Satan. Nay, more — female character, basking in 
the sunshine of innocence, has often been withered, 
blighted, ruined, by its chilling breath. 

Let each reader examine and see if this propen- 
sity, so deeply rooted in human nature, is exercising 
an influence over his or her mind. If so, banish it 















PATIENCE 



from your bosom, as you would a deadly viper. Let 
its enormity be held up to children, by parents and 
teachers, that they may learn to dread, despise, and 
avoid it. Teach them charity, forbearance, forgive- 
ness, and all the virtues that adorn our race. 
c -/- Dear reader, does this propensity exist in youi 
* heart ? If so, banish it, for it will do you much harm, 
i and in time ruin your soul. 

•^ ' Becoming Graces 

Are Justice, Verity, Temperance, Stableness, 
Bounty, Perseverance, Mercy, Lowliness, 
Devotion, Patience, Courage, Fortitude. 




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No MAN, in any condition of life, can pass his days 
with tolerable comfort without patience. It is of uni- 
versal use. Without it, prosperity will be continually 
disturbed, and adversity will be clouded with double 
darkness. He who is without patience will be uneasy 
and troublesome to all with whom he is connected, 
and will be more troublesome to himself than to any 
other. The loud complaint, the querulous temper 
and fretful spirit, disgrace every character: we 
weaken thereby the sympathy of others, and estrange 
them from offices of kindness and comfort. But to 
maintain a steady and unbroken mind, amidst all the 
shocks of adversity, forms the highest honor of man. 
Afflictions supported by patience and surmounted by 




374 



PATIENCE. 



l' 




^ I '/ 






fortitude, give the last finishing- stroke to the heroic 
and the virtuous character. Thus the vale of tears 
becomes the theatre of human giory ; that dark cloud 
presents the scene of all the beauties in the bow of 
virtue. Moral grandeur, like the sun, is brighter in 
the day of the storm, and never is so truly sublime 
as when struggling through the darkness of an 
eclipse. 

Patience is the guardian of faith, the preserver of 
peace, the cherisher of love, the teacher of humility. 
Patience governs the flesh, strengthens the spirit, 
sweetens the temper, stifles anger, extinguishes envy, 
subdues pride ; she bridles the tongue, restrains the 
hand, tramples upon temptations, endures persecu- 
tions, consummates martyrdom. 

Patience produces unity in the church, loyalty in 
the state, harmony in families and societies ; she 
comforts the poor and moderates the rich ; she makes 
us humble in prosperity, cheerful in adversity, un- 
moved by calumny and reproach ; she teaches us to 
forgive those who have injured us, and to be the first 
{n asking the forgiveness of those whom we have 
injured ; she delights the faithful and invites the un- 
believing; she adorns the woman and approves the 
man ; she is beautiful in either sex and every age. 

Behold her appearance and her attire ! Her coun- 
tenance is calm and serene as the face of heaven 
unspotted by the shadow of a cloud, and no wrinkle 
of grief or anger is seen in her forehead. Her eyes 
are as the eyes of doves for meekness, and on her 
eyebrows sit cheerfulness and joy. Her mouth is 



r-^ 




PATIENCE. 



375 



lovely in silence ; her complexion and color that of 
innocence and security, while, like the virgin, the 
daughter of Zion, she shakes her head at the adver- 
^^- sary, despising and laughing him to scorn. She is 

clothed in the robes of the martyrs, and in her hand 
she holds a sceptre in the form of a cross. She rides 
not in the whirlwind and stormy tempest of passion, 
but her throne is the humble and contrite heart, and 
her kingdom is the kingdom of peace. 

Patience has been defined as the ''courage of vir- 
tue," the principle that enables us to lessen pain of 
mind or body ; an emotion that doesnot so much add 
to the number of our joys, as it tends to diminish 
the number of our sufferings. If life is made to 
abound with pains and troubles, by the errors and the 
crimes of man, it is no small advantage to have a 
^^faculty that enables us to soften these pains and to 
ameliorate these troubles. How powerful, and hov/ 
extensive the influence of patience in performing this 
acceptable service, it is impossible to judge but from 
experience ; those who have known most bodily pain 
can best testify its power. Impatience, in fact, by 
inducing restlessness and irritation, not only doubles 
every pang, and prolongs every suffering, but actually 
often creates the trials to be endured. In pains of 
the body this is the case, but more potently is it so in 
all mental affliction. The hurry of spirits, the in- 
effectual efforts for premature relief, the agitation of 
undue expectation, all combine to create a real suffer- 
ing, in addition to what is inflicted by the cause of 
our impatience. How numberless are the petty dis- 











PATIENCE. 



asters effected, the trivial vexations protracted by this 
harassing emotion ; the loss of money, time, friends, 
reputation, by mistaken earnestness in pursuing vio- 
lent schemes, in not pausing to reflect before decision, 
in urging disagreeable or unjust claims, and in rush- 
ing into ill-concerted plans ! 

The most beneficent operations of nature are the 
result of patience. The waters slowly deposit their 
rich alluvium ; the fruits are months in their growth 
and perfecting. 

To be wise we must diligently apply ourselves, 
and confront the same continuous application which 
our forefathers did ; for labor is still, and ever will be 
the inevitable price set upon everything which is 
valuable. We must be satisfied to work energetically 
with a purpose, and wait the results with patience. 
Buffon has even said of patience, that it is genius — 
the power of great men, in his opinion, consisting 
mainly in their power of continuous working and 
waiting. All progress, of the best kind, is slow ; 
but to him who works faithfully and in a right spirit, 
be sure that the reward will be vouchsafed in its own 
good time. ''Courage and industry," says Granville 
Sharpe, ''must have sunk in despair, and the world 
must have remained unimproved and unornamented, 
if men had merely compared the effect of a single 
stroke of the chisel with the pyramid to be raised, or 
of a single impression of the spade with mountains 
to be leveled." We must continuously apply our- 
selves to right pursuits, and we cannot fail to advance 
steadily, though it may be unconsciously. 




-jT" 





'^".> 



^( 



Hu^h Miller modestly says, in his autobiography: 
"The only merit to which I lay claim is that of 
patient research — a merit in which whoever wills may 
rival or surpass me ; and this humble faculty of 
patience, when riorhtly developed, may lead to more 
extraordinary developments of idea than even geniws 






itself 



Wi^e^'> 




Patience is a good nag, says the proverb, 
and slow ; they stumble that run fast. Always have a 
goo3 stock of patience laid by, and be sure you put 
it where you can easily find it. Cherish patience as 
your favorite virtue. Always keep it about you. 
You will find use for it oftener than for all the rest. 
He who is impatient to become his own master is 
most likely to become merely his own slave. You 
can do anything if you will only have patience ; water 
may be carried in a sieve, if you can only wait till it 
freezes. Those who at the comrn^ncement of theikv l^fK 
career meet with less applause than they deserve, 
not unfrequently gain more than they deserve at the 
end of it ; though having grounds at first to fear that 
they were born to be starved, they often live long 
enough to die of a surfeit. 

He hath made a good progress in business that 
hath thought well of it beforehand. Some do first 
and think afterwards. Precipitation ruins the best 
laid designs ; whereas patience ripens the most diffi- 
cult, and renders the execution of them easy. That 
is done soon enough which is done well. Soon ripe, 
soon rotten. He that would enjoy the fruit, must not 
gather the flower. He calls to patience, who is 







378 



CONTENTMENT, 



patience itself, and he that gives the precept enforces 
it by his own example. Patience affords us a shield 
to defend ourselves, and innocence denies us a sword 
to defend others. Knowledge is power, but it is one 
of the slowest because one of the most durable of 
agencies. Continued exertion, and not hasty efforts, 
leads to success. What cannot be cured must be 
endured. How poor are theywho have not patience ! 



-^'^'^1^'^'^ 



I ^:i! ^^ 



" Poor and content is rich, and rich enough ; 
But riches endless is as poor as winter 
To him that always fears he shall be poor." 

Every man either is rich, or may be so ; though 
not all in one and the same wealth. Some have 
abundance, and rejoice in it ; some a competency, and 
are content ; some having nothing, have a mind desir- 
ing nothing. He that hath most, wants something; 
he that hath least, is in something supplied ; wherein 
the mind which maketh rich, may well possess him 
with the thought of store. Who whistles out more 
content than the low-fortuned plowman, or sings more 
merrily than the abject cobbler who sits under the 
stall ? Content dwells with those who are out of the 
eye of the world, whom she hath never trained with 
her gauds, her toils, her lures. Wealth is like learn- 
ing, wherein our greater knowledge is only a larger 
sight of our wants. Desires fulfilled, teach us to 






^^ 



CONTENTMENT 



379 



desire more ; so we that at first were pleased, by 
removing fi-om that, are now grown insatiable. 

We knew a man who had health and riches, and 
several houses, all beautiful and ready furnished, and 
would often trouble himself and family to be removing 
from one house to another ; and being asked by a 
friend why he removed so often from one house to 
another, replied: ''It was to find content in some of 
them." But his friend, knowing his temper, told him, 
''If he would find content in any of his houses, he 
must leave himself behind him ; for content will never 
dwell but in a meek and quiet soul." The inscription 
upon the tombstone of the man who had endea- 
vored to mend a tolerable constitution by taking phy- 
sic, '' I was well ; I wished to be better ; here I am,'' 
may generally be applied with great justice to the 
distress of disappointed avarice and ambition. 

We sometimes go musing along the street to see 
how few people there are whose faces look as though 
any joy had come down and sung in their souls. We 
can see lines of thought, and of care, and of fear — 
money lines, shrewd, grasping lines — but how few 
happy lines ! The rarest feeling that ever lights the 
human face is the contentment of a loving soul. Sit 
for an hour on the steps of the Exchange in Wall 
street, and you will behold a drama which is better 
than a thousand theatres, for all the actors are real. 
There are a hundred successful men where there is 
one contented man. We can find a score of hand- 
some faces where we can find one happy face. An 
eccentric wealthy gentleman stuck up a board in a 







}^i^^^- 




380 



CONTENTMENT. 




field Upon his estate, upon which was painted the 
following: "I will give this field to any man con- 
tented." He soon had an applicant. ''Well, sir, 
are you a contented man?" ''Yes, sir; very." 
"Then what do you want of my field?" The appli- 
cant did not stop to reply. 

It is one property which, they say, is required of 
those who seek the philosopher's stone, that they 
must not do it with any covetous desire to be rich, 
for otherwise they shall never find it. But most true 
it is, that whosoever would have this jewel of content- 
ment (which turns all into gold, yea, want into wealth), 
must come with minds divested of all ambitious and 
covetous thoughts, else are they never likely to obtain 
it. The foundation of content must spring up in a 
man's own mind ; and he who has so little knowledge 
of human nature as to seek happiness by changing 
anything but his own disposition, will waste his life 
in fruitless efforts, and multiply the griefs which he 
purposes to remove. No man can tell whether he be 
rich or poor by turning to his ledger. It is the heart 
that makes a man rich. He is rich or poor according 
to what he zs, not according to what he /las. 

It conduces much to our content if we pass by those 
things which happen to trouble, and consider what is 
pleasing and prosperous, that by the representations 
of the better the worse may be blotted out. If I be 
overthrown in my suit at law, yet my house is left me 
still, and my land, or I have a virtuous wife, or hope- 
ful children, or kind friends, or hopes. If I have lost 
one child, it may be that I have two or three still left 




A 







■%.?f 



fl 



i'rfi 



CONTKNTMLNT 



me. Enjoy the present, whatever it may be, and be 
not soHcitous for the future; for if you take your foot 
from the present standing, and thrust it forward to 
to-morrow's event, you are in a restless condition ; it 
is like refusing- to quench your present thirst by fear- 
f^^yiug you will want to drink the next day. If to-mor- 
row you should want, your sorrow would come time 
enough, though you do not hasten it ; let your trouble 
tarry till its own day comes. Enjoy the blessings of 
this dky, if God sends them, and the evils of it bear 
patiently and sweetly, for this day is ours. We are 
dead to yesterday, and not yet born to to-morrow. 
A contented mind is the greatest blessing a man can 
enjoy in this world ; and if in the present life his hap- 
piness arises from the subduing of his desires, it will 
arise in the next from the gratification of them. 

Contentment is felicity. Few, are the reaf wants of 
man. Like a majority of his troubles, they are more 
imaginary than real. Some well persons want to be 
better, take medicine, and become sick in good earn- 
est ; perhaps die under some patented nostrum. 
Some persons have wealth — they want more — enter 
into some new business they do not understand, or 
some wild speculation, and become poor indeed. 
Many who are surrounded by all the substantial com- 
forts of life, become discontented because some 
wealthier neighbor sports a carriage, and his lady a 
Brussels carpet and mahogany chairs, entertains 
parties, and makes more show in the world than they. 
Like the monkey, they attempt to imitate all they see 
that is deemed fashionable ; make a dash at greater 




^z-' 



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I f^ "h 



'A. 



382 CONTENTMENT. 

contentment ; dash out their comfortable store of 
wealth ; and sometimes, determined on quiet at least, 
close the farce with a tragedy, and dash their brains 
out with a blue pill. Discontented persons live in 
open rebellion against their great Benefactor, and 
virtually claim wisdom, more than infinite. They 
covet, they wish, and wishes are as prolific as rabbits. 
One imaginary want, like a stool pigeon, brings 
flocks of others, and the mind becomes so over- 
whelmed, that it loses sight of all the real comforts in 
possession. 

Contentment consists not in adding more fuel, but 
in taking away some fire ; not in multiplying wealth, 
but in subtracting men's desires. Worldly riches, 
like nuts, tear men's clothing in getting them, spoil 
men's teeth in cracking them, but fill no belly in 
eating them. When Alexander saw Diogenes sitting 
in the warm sun, and asked what he should do for 
him, he desired no more than that Alexander would 
stand out of his sunshine, and not take from him what 
he could not give. A quiet and contented mind is 
the supreme good ; it is the utmost felicity a man is 
capable of in this world : and the maintaining of such 
an uninterrupted tranquility of spirit is the very crown 
and glory of wisdom. 

Nature teaches us to live, but wisdom teaches us to 
live contented. Contentment is opposed to fortune 
and opinion — it is the wealth of nature, for it gives 
everything we either want or need. The discontents 
of the poor are much easier allayed than those of the 
rich. Solon being asked by Croesus who in the world 




CONTENTMENT. 



38r 



MM 



was happier than himself, answered, Telkis ; who, 
thoug-h he was poor, was a good man, and content 
with what he had, and died In a good old age. No 
line holds the anchor of contentment so fast as a good 
conscience. This cable is so strong and compact 
that when force is offered to It, the straining rather 
strengthens, by uniting the parts more closely. 
^ Those who are contented with a little deserve 
much ; and those who deserve much are far the more 
likely persons to be contented with a little. Content- 
ment is oftener made of cheap materials than of dear 
ones. What a glorious world this would be, If all its 
inhabitants could say with Shakspeare's shepherd: 
''Sir, I am a true laborer, I earn that I wear; owe no 
man hate ; envy no man's happiness ; glad of other 
men's good, contented with my farm." Half the dis- 
content in the world arises from men regarding them 
selves as centres, instead of the infinitesimal segments, 
of circles. Be contented with enough ; you may but- 
ter your bread until you are unable to eat it. Enough 
is as good as a feast. When you feel dissatisfied 
with your circumstances, look at those beneath you. 
There are minds, said John Quincy Adams, which 
can be pleased by honors and preferments, and I can 
see nothing in them save envy and enmity. It is 
only necessary to possess them to know how little 
they contribute to happiness. I had rather be shut 
up in a very modest cottage, with my books, my 
family, and a few old friends, dining upon simple 
bacon and hominy and letting the world roll on as It 
likes, than to occupy the most high places which 
human power can give. 



M'" 







( — 




384 




God bless the cheerful person — man, woman or 
child, old or young, illiterate or educated, handsome 
or homely. Over and above every other social trait 
stands cheerfulness. What the sun is to nature, 
what the stars are to night, what God is to the 
stricken heart which knows how to lean upon Him, 
are cheerful persons in the house and by the wayside. 
Man recognizes the magic of a cheerful influence in 
woman more quickly and more willingly than the 
potency of dazzling genius, of commanding worth, 
or even of enslaving beauty. 

If we are cheerful and contented, all nature smiles 
with us ; the air seems more balmy, the sky more 
clear, the ground has a brighter green, the trees have 
a richer foliage, the flowers a more fragrant smell, 
the birds sing more sweetly, and the sun, moon and 
stars all appear more beautiful. 

Cheerfulness ! How sweet in infancy, how lovely 
in youth, how saintly in age ! There are a few noble 
natures whose very presence carries sunshine with 
them wherever they go ; a sunshine which means pity 
for the poor, sympathy for the suffering, help for the 
unfortunate, and benignity toward all. How such a 
face enlivens every other face it meets, and carries 
into every company vivacity and joy and gladness ! 
But the scowl and frown, begotten in a selfish heart, and 
manifesting itself in daily, almost hourly fretfulness, 




ai 



ii 



■'*>»c*'4' 



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,^v -s. 








<^. 






CHEERFULNESS. 

complaining-, fault-finding, angry criticisms, spiteful 
comments on the motives and actions of others, 
how they thin the cheek, shrivel the face, sour and 
sadden the countenance ! No joy in the heart, no 
nobility in the soul, no generosity in the nature ; the 
,, -^^%]i^ cliaracter as cold as an iceberg, as hard as^>^ 
-^ T\lpine rock, as arid as the wastes of Sahara ! Reader ,l,./;'^: 
' ~^"whi<:K?^^pf these countenances are you cultivating?^^ 
If y^it' find yourself losing all your confidence in 
human nature, you are nearing an old age of vinegar, 
of wormwood and of gall ; and not a mourner wall 
follow your solitary bier, not one tear-drop shall ever 
fall on your forgotten grave. 

Look at the bright side. Keep the sunshine of a 
living faith in the heart. Do not let the shadow of 
"^IC\^^=^.discouragement and despondency fall on your path. 
"However weary you may be, ^ttre, pr^jnises of God 
will, like the stars at night, never cease 'TO^shin^, to ' 
cheer and strengthen. Learn to wait as well as labor. 
The best harvests are the longest in ripening. It is 
not pleasant to work in the earth plucking the ugly 
tares and weeds, but it is as necessary as sowing the 
seed. The harder the task, the more need of sing- 
ing. A hopeful spirit will discern the silver lining of 
the darkest cloud, for back of all planning and doing, 
with its attendant discouragements and hindrances, 
shines the light of Divine promise and help. Ye are 
God's husbandmen. It is for you to be faithful. He 
gives the increase. 

Be cheerful, for it is the only happy life. The times 
may be hard, but it will make them no easier to wear 

2s 



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a gloomy and sad countenance. It is the sunshine 
and not the cloud that makes the flower. There is 
always that before or around us which should fill the 
heart with warmth. The sky is blue ten times where 
it is black once. You have troubles, it may be. So 
have others. None are free from them. Perhaps it 
is as well that none should be. They give sinew and 
tone to life — fortitude and courage to man. That 
would be a dull sea, and the sailor would never get 
skill, where there was nothing to disturb the surface 
of the ocean. It is the duty of every one to extract 
all the happiness and enjoyment he can without and 
within him, and, above all, he should look on the 
bright side of things. What though things do look 
a little dark ? The lane will turn, and the night will 
end in broad day. In the long run, the great balance 
rights itself. What is ill becomes well ; what is wrong 
becomes right. Men are not made to hang down 
either heads or lips ; and those who do, only show 
that they are departing from the paths of true com- 
mon sense and right. There is more virtue in one 
sunbeam than a whole hemisphere of cloud and 
gloom. Therefore, we repeat, look on the bright 
side of things. Cultivate what is warm and genial — 
not the cold and repulsive, the dark and morose. 
Don't neglect your duty ; live down prejudice. 

We always know the cheerful man by his hearty 
"good morning." As well might fog, and cloud, anc) 
vapor hope to cling to the sun-illumined landscape, 
as the blues and moroseness to remain in any coun 
tenance when the cheerful one comes with a hearty 



m 



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CllEERl'ljLNESS. 

''Good morning'!" Dear reader, don't forget to say 
it. Say it to your parents, your brothers and sisters,, 
your schoolmates, your teachers — say it cheerfully 
and with a smile ; it will do you good, and do your 
friends good. There's a kind of inspiration in every 
**Good morning!" heartily and smilingly spoken, that 
helps to make hope fresher and work lighter. It 
sfeems really to make the morning good, and a proph- 
ecy of a good day to come after it. And if this be 
true of the ''Good morning!" it is also of all kind, 
cheerful greetings ; they cheer the discouraged, rest 
the tired one, and somehow make the wheels of time 
run more smoothly. Be liberal then, and let no 
morning pass, however dark and gloomy it may be, 
that you do not help at least to brighten it by your 
smiles and cheerful words. 

^s, The cheerful are the busy ; when trouble knocks 
your door or rings the bell, he will g'eneraMy'retir'e^ 
you send him word ''Engaged." And a busy life 
cannot well be otherwise than cheerful. Frogs do 
not croak in running- water. And active minds are 
seldom troubled with gloomy forebodings. They 
come up only from the stagnant depths of a spirit 
unstirred, by generous impulses or the blessed neces- 
sities of honest toil. 

What shall we say by way of commending that 
sweet cheerfulness by which a good and sensible 
woman diffuses the oil of gladness in the proper 
sphere of home. The best specimens of heroism in 
the world are never gazetted. They play their ro/e in 
common life, and their reward is not in the admiration 




^^ 






& 




in the deep joy of their own 
It is easy for a housewife to 
make arrang-ements for an occasional feast ; but let 
me tell you what is greater and better: amid the 
weariness and cares of life ; the troubles, real and 
imag-inary, of a family; the many thoughts and toils 
which are requisite to make the family home of thrift, 
order and comfort; the varieties of temper and cross- 
lines of taste and inclination which are to be found in 
a large household — to maintain a heart full of good 
nature and a face always bright with cheerfulness, 
this is a perpetual festivity. We do not mean a mere 
superficial simper, which has no more character in it 
than the flow of a brook, but that exhaustless patience, 
and self-control, and kindness, and tact which spring 
fi-om good sense and brave purposes. Neither is it 
the mere reflection of prosperity, for cheerfulness, 
then, is no virtue. Its best exhibition is in the dark 
back-ground of real adversity. Affairs assume a 
gloomy aspect, poverty is hovering about the door, 
sickness has already entered, days of hardship and 
nights of watching go slowly by, and now you see 
the triumph of which we speak. When the strong- 
man has bowed himself, and his brow is knit and 
creased, you will see how the whole life of the house- 
hold seems to hang on the frailer form, which, with 
solicitudes of her own, passing, it may be, under 
''the sacred primal sorrow of her sex," has an eye 
and an ear for every one but herself, suggestive of 
expedients, hopeful in extremities, helpful in kind 
words and affectionate smiles, morning, noon and 




^1 







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389 

night, the medicine, the hg-ht, the heart of a whole 
household. God bless that bright, sunny face ! says 
many a reader, as he recalls that one of mother, wife, 
sister, daughter, which has been to him all that our 
words have described. 
]^^(1^^The Industrious bee stops not to complain that 

there are so m^any poisonous flowers and thornyj|=;,/ 
~>^^%fanches S^rftfe^FoMr but buzzes on, selecting the 



I. 



honey where he can find It, and passing quietly by the 
places where It Is not. There is enough In this world 
to complain about and find fault with, If men have the 
disposition. We often travel on a hard and uneven 
road, but with a cheerful spirit and a heart to praise 
^y'^^l-^^k God for his mercies, we may walk therein with great 
^'/ wv^ comfort and come to the end of our journey In peace. 
,--^V\\. Let us try to be like the sunshiny member of the 

v'^ j^^j>^^ ^"iamlly, who has the Inestimable art to make all duty,, 
seem pleasant, all self-denial and exertion easy and 
desirable, even disappointment not so blank and 
crushing ; who Is like a bracing, crisp, frosty atmos- 
phere throughout the home, without a suspicion of 
the element that chills and pinches. You have known 
people within whose Influence you felt cheerful, ami- 
able, and hopeful, equal to anything ! Oh ! for that 
blessed power, and for God's grace to exercise it 
rightly ! I do not know a more enviable gift than the 
energy to sway others to good ; to diffuse around us 
an atmosphere of cheerfulness, piety, truthfulness, 
generosity, magnanimity. It Is not a matter of great 
talent ; not entirely a matter of great energy ; but 
rather of earnestness and honesty, and of that quiet 





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constant energy which is like soft rain gently pene- 
trating the soil. It is rather a grace than a gift ; and 
we all know where all grace is to be had freely for 
the asking. 

«o» ii>A-ii>-gf4g-ii>-2tHii-»o»- 



Writers of every age have endeavored to show 
that pleasure is in us and not in the object offered for 
our amusement. If the soul be happily disposed, 
everything becomes capable of affording entertain- 
ment, and distress will almost want a name. 

The fountain of content must spring up in the mind, 
and he who seeks happiness by changing anything 
but his own disposition, will waste his life in fruitless 
efforts and multiply the griefs which he purposes to 
remove. 

Man is, in all respects, constituted to be happy. 
Hence it is that he sees goodness around him in pro- 
portion to the goodness that is within him ; and it is 
also for this reason that when he calls the evil that is 
within him outside of him it also appears so. If man, 
therefore, chooses that which does not seem to him 
good, he can, in a measure, enjoy it. One of the 
most evident differences between the enjoyment of 
what is good and true and that which is false and evil, 
is that the first leaves something to be re-enjoyed in 
memory and after life, while the latter leaves regret, 
disappointment and suffering. 




".' wi 




A great part of the infelicity of men arises not so 
much from their situations or circumstances as from 
their pride, vanity and ambitious expectations. In 
order to be happy, these dispositions must be sub- 
dued ; we must always keep before our eyes such 
views of the world as shall prevent our expecting 
more from it than it is designed to afford. We 
(destroy our joys by devouring them beforehand with 
;too eager expectation. We ruin the happiness of life 
when we attempt to raise it too high. Menedemus 
was told one day that it was a great felicity to have 
whatever we desire. '' Yes J' said he, '' btit it is a 
much greater felicity to desire nothing bttt what we 
have'' 

The idea has been transmitted from generation to 
generation that happiness is one large and beauti- 
ful precious stone — -a single gem, so rare thathall:^ 
search after it is all vain effort, fruitless and hopeless^: 
It is not so. Happiness is a mosaic, composed of 
many smaller stones. Each taken apart and viewed 
singly may be of little value, but when all are 
grouped together and judiciously combined and set, 
they form a pleasing and graceful whole, a costly 
jewel. 

Trample not under foot then the little pleasures 
which a gracious Providence scatters in the daily path 
while you are in eager search after some great and 
exciting joy. 

If you go to creation to make you happy, the earth 
will tell you that happiness grows not in the furrows 
of the fields ; the sea that it is not in the treasures of 




392 



IIAPriNESS. 



i i 





:p 



the deep; cattle will say, "It is not on our backs;" 
crowns will say, ''It is too precious a ^^em to be found 
in us." 

We can adorn the head, but we cannot satisfy the 
heart. Happiness is in us, not in things. If happi- 
ness consisted in things only, there would be no end 
to the numberless kinds of it. It was in this point of 
view that the erudite Roman writer, Varro, enumera- 
ted seven hundred sorts of happiness. So, also, the 
learned Turkish doctor, Ebn Abbas, maintained that 
the number of grievous sins is about seven hundred, 
thus balancing the accounts between good and ill. 

We talk of wealth, fame and power as undeniable 
sources of enjoyment, and limited fortune, obscurity 
and insignificance as incompatible with felicity. It is 
thus that there is a remarkable distinction between 
acquisitions and conditions, theoretically considered, 
and practically proved. However brilliant they may 
be in speculation, wealth, fame and power are found 
in possession impotent to confer felicity. However 
decried in prospect, limited fortunes, obscurity, insig- 
nificance, are by experience proved most friendly to 
human happiness. Le Droz, who wrote a treatise 
upon happiness, describes the conditions necessary 
for it as consisting of the greatest fortitude to resist 
and endure the ills and pains of life, united with the 
keenest sensibility to enjoy its pleasures and delights. 

"Health, peace and competence," is a popular 
definition of happiness. Yet thousands, and tens of 
thousands, possess these great blessings and are not 
happy, nay, will not allow that they have the means 







GRATITUDE. 




to be happy. Madame de Stael, in her "Delphine," 
defines happiness to consist in the absence of misery. 
How many human beings are without one single real 
evil, and yet complain of their fate. 

There is little real happiness on earth because we 
f^'Sf rOv^fte4^ ^^^^ aright — we seek it where it is not, in 
^y i<Qutward circumstance and external good, and neglect 
v^tO seek it, where albjie it dwells, in the close chambers 
f 4he bosom. We would have a happiness in time, 
independent of eternity; we would have it indepen- 
dent of the Being whose it is to give ; and so we go 
forth, each one as best we may, to seek out the rich 
possession for ourselves. But disappointment attends 
every step in the pursuit of happiness, until we seek 
it where alone it can be found. The original curse is 
still resting upon us. The cherubim, with their 
'IJ^'^^^^aming swords, still guard the j^ates of Paradise, 




^-7 



VV 




arid no man enters therein. 



'^- 



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" But foolish mortals still pursue 
False happiness in place of true ; 
A happiness we toil to find, 
Which still pursues us like the wind." 




Although the w^ord gratitude, like the word trin- 
ity, is not to be found in the Bible, yet as the sacred 
Scriptures contain many sentiments on each of these 
subjects, and these words are the most comprehen- 
sive V convey the ideas, they are well adapted. To 






394 



GRATITUDE. 




deliver our thoughts in few words on gratitude, we 
apprehend it includes five things ; first, a deep and 
lively sense of benefits received ; secondly, an ardent 
love to and complacency in the benefactor; thirdly, 
an immediate beginning to make all possible returns 
to the donor, either in repaying or else expressing 
our thankfulness ; fourthly, in a fixed purpose of 
heart to make better returns, if ever in our power ; 
and fifthly, a determined resolution to retain gratitude 
for the benefit or favors to the end of life. 

Gratitude is justly said to be the mother of most 
virtues, because that from this one fountain so many 
rivulets arise ; as that of reverence unto parents and 
masters, friendship, love to our country, and obedi- 
ence to God. The ungrateful are everywhere hated, 
being under a suspicion of every vice ; but, on the 
contrary, grateful persons are in the estimation of all 
men, having by their gratitude put in a kind of secu- 
rity that they are not without a measure of every 
other virtue. . 

Gratitude is a painful pleasure, felt and expressed 
by none but noble souls. Such are pained, because 
misfortune places them under the stern necessity of 
receiving favors from the benevolent, who are, as the 
world would say, under no obligations to bestow 
them — free-will offerings made by generous hearts, 
to smooth the rough path, and wipe away the tears 
of a fellow being. They derive a pleasure from the 
enjoyment of the benefits bestowed, which is rendered 
more exquisite by the reflection that there are thos^ 
in the world who can feel and appreciate the woerv o? 



GRATITUDE. 395 

Others, and lend a willing hand to help them out of 
the ditch ; those who are not wrapped up in the 
cocoon of selfish avarice, who live only for them- 
selves, and die for the devil. This pleasure is farther 
refined by a knowledge of the happiness enjoyed by 
the person whose benevolence dictated the relief in 
the contemplation of a duty performed, imposed by 
dhgelic philanthropy, guided by motives pure as 
heaven. The worthy recipient feels deeply the obli- 
gations under which he is placed ; no time can oblit- 
erate them from his memory, no statute of limitation 
bars the payment ; the moment means and opportu- 
nity are wdthin his power, the debt is joyfully liqui- 
dated, and this very act gives a -fresh vigor to his 
long-cherished gratitude. 

A very poor and aged man, busied in planting and 
^^rafting an apple tree, was rudely interrupted by this hv 
interrogation: "Why do you plant trees,_who cannot 31 
hope to eat the fruit of them ?" He raised himself 
up, and leaning upon his spade, replied: ''Some one 
planted trees for me before I was born, and I have 
eaten the fruit; I now plant for others, that the 
^^memorial of my gratitude may exist when I am dead 
and gone." It is a species of agreeable servitude to 
be under an obligation to those we esteem. Ingrati- 
tude Is a crime so shameful that the man has not yet 
been found who would acknowledge himself guilty 
of it. 

Nothing tenders the heart, and opens the gushing 
fountain of love, more than the exercise of gratitude. 
Like the showers of spring, that cause flowers to rise 



HOPE. 

from seeds that have long- lain dormant, tears of grat- 
itude awaken ^pleasurable sensations, unknown to 
those who have never been forced from the sunshine 
of prosperity into the cold shade of adversity, where 
no warmth is felt but that of benevolence ; no light 
enjoyed but that of charity ; unless it shall be the 
warmth and light communicated from Heaven to the 
sincerely pious, who alone are prepared to meet, with 
calm submission, the keen and chilling winds of mis- 
fortune, and who, above all others, exercise the virtue 
of gratitude, in the full perfection of its native beauty. 



^ 




The poet Hesiod tells us that the miseries of all 
mankind were included in a great box, and that Pan- 
dora took off the lid of it, by which means all of them 
came abroad, and only hope remained at the bottom. 
Hope, then, is the principal antidote which keeps our 
heart from bursting under the pressure of evils, and 
is that flattering mirror that gives us a prospect of 
some greater good. Some call hope the manna from 
heaven, that comforts us in all extremities ; others, 
the pleasant flatterer that caresses the unhappy with 
expectations of happiness in the bosom of futurity. 
When all other things fail us, hope stands by us to 
the last. This, as it were, gives freedom to the cap- 
tive when chained to the oar, health to the sick, victory 
to the defeated, and wealth to the beggar. 










iA 



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HOPE. 



True hope is based on energy of character. A 
strono- mind always hopes, and has always cause to 
hope, because it knows the mutability of human affairs, 
and how slight a circumstance may change the whole 
course of events. Such a spirit, too, rests upon itself; 
jt is not confined to partial views, or to one particular 
object. And if, at last, all should be lost, it has saved 
itself— its own integrity and worth. Hope awakens 
courage, while despondency is the last of all evils ; it 
is the abandonment of good — the giving up of the 
battle of life with dead nothingness. He who can 
implant courage in the human soul is the best phy- 
sician. 

Earthly hope, like fear, is confined to this dim 
spot, on which we live, move, and have our being. 
It is excluded from heaven to hell. It is a dashing 
blade, with a great estate in expectancy, which, when 
put in its possession, produces instant death. ^lt\ 
draws large drafts on experience, payable Z7i futuro, 
and is seldom able to liquidate them. Hope is 
always buoyant, and, like Old Virginia, never tires. 
It answers well for breakfast, but makes a bad supper. 
Like a balloon, we know where it starts from, but can 
make no calculation when, where, and how, it will 
land us. Hope is a great calculator, but a bad mathe- 
matician. Its problems are seldom based on true 
data — their demonstration is oftener fictitious than 
otherwise. Without the baseness of some modern 
land speculators, it builds cities and towns on paper, 
that are as worthless as their mountain peaks and 
impassable quagmires. It suspends earth in the air, 
and plays with bubbles, like a child, with a tube and 




W0iS 



\..v 





soap suds. As with Milo, who attempted to split an 
oak, and was caught in the spHt and killed ; the wedge 
often flies out* and the operator is caught in a split 
stick. It is bold as Caesar, and ever ready to attempt 
great feats, if it should be to storm the castle of 
despair. 

When all other emotions are controlled by events, 
hope alone remains forever buoyant and undecayed, 
under the most adverse circumstances, "unchanged, 
unchangeable." Causes that affect with depression 
every other emotion, appear to give fresh elasticity 
to hope. No oppression can crush its buoyancy ; 
from under every weight it rebounds ; no disappoint- 
ments can annihilate its power, no experience can 
deter us from listening to its sweet illusions : it seems 
a counterpoise for misfortune, an equivalent for every 
endurance. Who is there without hope ? The fet- 
tered prisoner in his dark cell, the diseased sufferer 
on his bed of anguish, the friendless wanderer on the 
unsheltered waste ; each cherishes some latent spark 
of this pure and ever-living light. Like the beam of 
heaven, it glows with indestructible brilliance, to the 
heart of man what ligh^ is to his eye, cheering, bless- 
ing, invigorating. 

A true hope we can touch somehow through all 
the lights and shadows of life. Il, is a prophecy 
fulfilled in part ; God's earnest-money paid into our 
hand that He will be ready with the whole when we 
are ready for it; the sunlight on the hill top when 
the valley is dark as death ; the spirit touching us all 
through our pilgrimage, and then when we know 



m 



VI 



HOPE 



399 




■^ 



that the end is n.ear, takln^^ us on its win^^s and 
soaring- away into the blessed Hfe where we may 
expect either that the fruition will be entirely equal 
to the hope, or that the old glamour will come over 
us again and beckon us on forever as the choicest 
blessing Heaven has to give. We know of no 
condition in any life which is trying to be real and 
^^■rue in which this power will not do for us just 
A\rhat we have seen it doing for the man who has to 
wait on the seasons for his daily bread. 

We can cherish a sure hope about our future and 
the future of those who belong to us, a sunny, eager 
onlooking toward the fulfillment of all of the promises 
God has written on our nature. We may be all 
wrong in our thoughts of the special form in which 
our blessings will come ; we never can be wriCing 

out the blessing. It may be like the mirage shift 
ing from horizon to horizon as we plod wearfy along^ 
but the soul is bound to find at last the resting-place 
and the spring. There is many a father in the world 
to-day trying hard to get his head above water who 
will sink, but his boys will swim and reach the firm 
land, and think of him with infinite tenderness, while 
he, perhaps, is watching them from above, and their 
success may be one of the elements of his joy in 
Heaven. The setting of a great hope is like the 
setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is 
g'one, shadows of the evening fall behind us, and the 
world seems but a dim reflection itself — a broader 
shadow. We look forward into the coming lonely 
night; the soul withdraws itself Then stars arise, 
and the night is hoi 






o^^ 




ri J- 



400 




HOPE. 



Its morality Is equally Inspiring-, rich, and beneficent. 
It encourages all things, g-oocl, great, noble. It 
whispers liberty to the slave, freedom to the captive, 
health to the sick, home to the wandering, friends to 
the forsaken, peace to the troubled, supplies to the 
needy, bread to the hungry, strength to the weak, 
rest to the weary, life to the dying. It has sunshine 
in Its eye, encouragement on Its tongue, and inspira- 
tion In Its hand. Rich and glorious- Is hope, and 
faithfully should it be cultivated. Let Its inspiring 
influence be in the heart of every youth. It wil^, 
give strength and courage. Let its cheerF/, word? 
fall ever from his tongue, and his bright smile pla] 
ever on Its countenance. Entertain well this nympl-, 
of goodness. Cultivate w^ell this ever-shining flower 
of the spirit. It Is the evergreen of life, that grows 
at the eastern gate of the soul's garden. 

Hopes and fears checker human life. He who 
wants hope, is the poorest man living. Our hopes 
and fears are the mainsprings of all cur religious 
endeavors. There is no one whose condition is so 
low but that he may have hopes ; nor is any one so 
high as to be out of the reach of fears. Hopes and 
disappointments are the lot and entertainment of 
human life : the one serves to keep us from presump- 
tion, the other from despair. Hope is the last thing 
that dieth in man, and though It be exceeding vari- 
able, yet it is of this good use to us, that while we 
are traveling through this life, it conducts us in an 
easier and more pleasant way to our jo irney's 
When faith, temperance, the graces, and other celes- 











tial powers, left the earth, says one of the ancients, 
hope was the only goddess that staid behind. Hope's 
enchantments never die. Eternal hope ! Hope gilds 
th(i future. Hope cheers and rouses the soul. Hope 
and strive is the way to thrive. The man who car- 
ries a lantern in a dark night can have friends all 
^ar'ound him, walking safely by the help of its rays, 
and not be defrauded. So he who has the God-given 
light of hope in Tiis breast can help on many others 
in this world's darkness, not to his own loss, but to 
their precious gain. 

Hope is an anchor to the soul, both sure and stead- 
fast, that will steady our frail bark while sailing over 
the ocean of life, and that will enable us to outride 
the storms of time — a hope that reaches from earth 
to heaven. This hope is based on faith in the immac- 
-->.. ^ ^^jjlate Redeemer, and keeps our earthly hopes from 
' •' running riot into forbidden paths. The cable of this- 
hope cannot be sundered until death cuts the gordian 
knot and lets the prisoner go free. To live without 
it, is blind infatuation — to die without it, eternal ruin. 



.^u~ 



^1 






r;^^K^ 



f^ 




^^r 



Charity is one of those amiable qualities of the 
human breast that imparts pleasure to its possessor, 
and those who receive it. It is of a modest and 
retiring nature. Charity, like the dew from heaven, 
falls gently on the drooping flower in the stillness of 
26 







n) 



i 




^d 



night. Its refreshing and reviving effects are felt, 
seen, and admired. It flows from a good heart, and 
looks beyond the skies for approval and reward. It 
never opens, but seeks to heal the wounds inflicted 
by misfortune — it never harrows up, but strives to 
calm the troubled mind. Like their Lord and Mas- 
ter, the truly benevolent man and woman go about 
doing good for the sake of goodness. No parade, 
no trumpet to sound their charities, no press to 
chronicle their acts. The gratitude of the donee is a 
rich recompense to the donor — purity of motive 
heightens and refines the joys of each. Angels smile 
on such benevolence. It is the attribute of Deity, 
the moving cause of every blessing we enjoy. 

Fair Charity, be thou my guest, 

And be thy constant couch my breast. 

— Cotton. 

Charity is the golden chain that reaches from 
heaven to earth. It is another name for disinterested, 
lofty, unadulterated love. It is the substratum of 
philanthropy, the brightest star in the Christian's 
diadem. It spurns the scrofula of jealousy, the can- 
ker of tormenting envy, the tortures of burning 
malice, the typhoid of foaming revenge. It is an 
impartial mirror, set in the frame of love, resting on 
equity and justice. It is the foundation and cap- 
stone of the climax of all the Christian graces ; with- 
out it, our religion is like a body without a soul ; our 
friendships, shadows of a shadow ; our alms, the 
offsprings of pride, or, what is more detestable, the 






1:/ 



a 



offerings of hypocrisy ; our humanity, a mere iceberg- 
on the ocean of time — we are unfit to discharge the 
duties of Hfe, and derange the design of our creation. 
Were this heaven-born, soul-cheering principle the 
mainspring of human action, the all-pervading motive- 
power that impelled mankind in their onward course 
to eternity, the polar star to guide them through this 
world of sin and wo, the ills that flesh is heir to 
would be softened in its melting sunbeams, a new 
and blissful era would dawn auspiciously upon our 
race, and Satan would become a bankrupt for want 
of business. Wars and rumors of wars would cease ; 
envy, jealousy, and revenge would hide their dimin- 
ished heads ; falsehood, slander, and persecution 
would be unknown ; sectarian walls, in matters of 
religion, would crumble in dust ; the household of 
faith would become what it should be, one united, 
harmonious family in Christ; infidelity, vice, an 
immorality would recede, and happiness, before un- 
known, would become the crowning glory of man. 
Pure and undefiled religion would then be honored 
and glorified — primitive Christianity would stand 
forth, divested of the inventions of men, in all the 
majesty of its native loveliness. Oh, could an angel 
bear a balm of such charity into our hearts, then 
would earth become a heaven and hell a fable. 

When we take the history of one poor heart that 
has sinned and suffered, and represent to ourself the 
struggles and temptations it passed through — the 
brief pulsations of joy, the tears of regret, the feeble- 
ness of purpose, the scorn of the world that has little 






r 




f 






CHARITY. 



charity; the desolation of the soul's sanctuary, and 
threatening voices within ; health gone ; happiness 
gone — we would fain leave the erring soul of our 
fellow-man with Him from whose hands it came. It 
is then that the words of Prior show their truth and 
beauty : 

"Soft peace it brings wherever it arrives, 
It builds our quiet — ' latent hope revives,' 
Lays the rough paths of nature 'smooth and even,' 
And opens in each breast a little heaven." 

Is any man fallen into disgrace? Charity holds 
down its head, is abashed and out of countenance, 
partaking of his shame. Is any man disappointed of 
his hopes or endeavors ? Charity cries out, alas ! as 
if it were itself defeated. Is any man afflicted with 
pain or sickness? Charity looks sadly, it sigheth 
and groans, it faints and languishes with him. Is 
any man pinched with hard want? Charity, if it 
cannot succor, will condole. Does ill news arrive? 
Charity hears it with an unwilling ear and a sad 
heart, although not particularly concerned in it. The 
sight of a wreck at sea, of a field spread with car- 
casses, of a country desolated, of houses burned and 
cities ruined, and of the like calamities incident to 
mankind, would touch the bowels of any man ; but 
the very report of them would affect the heart of 
charity. 



SiMl'j- 




$■.... 



e 









Kt 



^^V 



ll 





More hearts pine away in secret anguish, for the 
^^^/vant of kindness from those who should be their 
omforters, than for any other calamity in life. A 
word of kindness is a seed which, when dropped by 
chance, springs up a flower. A kind word and pleas- 
ant voice are gifts easy to give ; be liberal with them ; 
they are worth more than money. " If a word or two 
will render a man happy," said a Frenchman, " he 
must be a wretch indeed, who will not give it. It is 
like lighting another man's candle with your own, 
which loses none of its brilliancy by what the other 
gains." If all men acted upon that principle th^ 
world would be much happier-than it is. Kindness 
is like a calm and peaceful stream that reflects every 
object in its just proportion. The violent spirit, like 
troubled waters, renders back the images of things 
distorted and broken, and communicates to them that 
disordered motion which arises from its own agita- 
tion. Kindness makes sunshine wherever it goes ; it 
finds its way into hidden chambers of the heart and 
brings forth golden treasures ; harshness, on the 
contrary, seals them up forever. Kindness makes 
the mother's lullaby sweeter than the song of the 
lark, the care-laden brow of the father and man of 
business less severe in their expression. Kindness 
is the real law of life, the link that connects earth 
with heaven, the true philosopher's stone, for all it 





■4 



ft 



m 




^e-pi 



\ 



' r 




%,,.^ 



touches it turns to virgin gold ; the true gold where- 
with we purchase contentment, peace and love. 
Write your name by kindness, love and mercy on the 
hearts of the people you come in contact with year 
by year, and you will never be forgotten. 

In the intercourse of social life it is by little acts of 
watchful kindness recurring daily and hourly — and 
opportunities of doing kindness, if sought for, are 
forever starting up — it is by words, by tones, by ges- 
tures, by looks, that affection is won and preserved. 

How sweet are the affections of kindness ! How 
balmy the influence of that regard which dwells 
around the fireside, where virtue lives for its own 
sake, and fidelity regulates and restrains the thirst for 
admiration, often a more potent foe to virtue than the 
fiercest lust ; where distrust and doubt dim not the 
lustre of purity, and where solicitude, except for the 
preservation of an unshaken confidence, has no 
place, and the gleam of suspicion or jealousy never 
disturbs the harmony and tranquillity of the scene, 
where paternal kindness and devoted fiHal affection 
blossom in all the frehness of eternal spring! I( 
matters not if the world is cold, if we can turn to our 
own dear circle for the enjoyment for which the heart 
yearns. Lord Bacon beautifully says: *'If a man 
be gracious unto strangers it shows he is a citizen of 
the world, and his heart is no island cut off from 
other lands, but a continent that joins them." 

There is nothing like kindness in the world. It is 
the very principle of love ; an emanation of the heart 
which softens and gladdens, and should be inculcated 



KINDNESS. 



407 



iB 



/ 




and encouraged in all our intercourse with our fellow 
beings. It is impossible to resist continued kindness. 
We may, in a moment of petulance or passion, 
manifest coldness to the exhibition of good will on 
the part of a new acquaintance ; but let him persist, 
let him continue to prove himself really benevolent of 
heart, generously and kindly disposed, and we will 
find our stubborn nature giving way, even uncon- 
sciously to ourselves. If this be the result of kind- 
ness among comparative strangers, how much more 
certain and delightful will be the exercise of the feel- 
ings at home, within the charmed circle of friends 
and relatives ? Home enjoyments, home affections, 
home courtesies, cannot be too carefully or steadily 
cultivated. They form the sunshine of the heart. 
They bless and sanctify our private circle. They 
become a source of calm delight to the man of busi- 
ness after a day of toil, they teach the merchant, the 
trader, the working man, that there is something 
purer, more precious even, than the gains of industry. 
They twine themselves around the heart, call forth its 
best and purest emotions and resources, enable us to 
be more virtuous, more upright, more Christian, in all 
our relations of life. We see in the little beings 
around us the elements of gentleness, of truth, and 
the beauty of fidelity and religion. A day of toil is 
robbed of many of its cares by the thought that in 
the evening we may return home and mingle with the 
family household. There, at least, our experience 
teaches us we may find confiding and loving bosoms. 







sF^g^L 




-^=r^L^ 





\ 



408 KINDNESS. 

also to whom we may look for counsel and encour- 
agement. 

We say to our friends, one and all, cultivate the 
home virtues, the household beauties of existence. 
Endeavor to make the little circle of domestic life a 
cheerful, an intelligent, a kindly, and a happy one. 
Whatever may go wrong in the world of business and 
trade, however arduous may be the struggle for for- 
tune or fame, let nothing mar the purity of reciprocal 
love or throw into its harmonious existence the apple 
of discord. 

He who neglects the trifles, yet boasts that, when- 
ever a great sacrifice is called for, he shall be ready 
to make it, will rarely be loved. The likelihood is he 
will not make it; and if he does, it will be much rather 
for his own sake than for his neighbors. Life is made 
up, not of great sacrifices or duties, but of little 
hings, in which smiles, and kindness, and small obli- 
gations, given habitually, are what win and preserve 
the heart, and secure comfort. 

Give no pain. Breathe not a sentiment, say not a 
word, give not the expression of the countenance that 
will offend another, or send a thrill of pain to his N^' 
bosom. We are surrounded by sensitive hearts, 
which a word or look even, might fill to the brim with 
sorrow. If you are careless of the opinions of others, v 

remember that they are differently constituted from 
yourself, and never by word or sign, cast a shadow on ^4|i^f 
a happy heart, or throw aside the smiles of joy that 
linger on a pleasant countenance. ^ 

Many lose the opportunity of saying a kind thing 



^?> 



y 




by waiting to welg-h the matter too long-. Our best 
impulses are too delicate to endure much handling. 
If we fail to give them expression the moment they 
rise, they effervesce, evaporate, and are gone. If 
they do not turn sour, they become flat, losing all life 
and sparkle by keeping. Speak promptly when you 
feel kindly, ^^(g^ v^ 

Deal gently 'with the stranger. Remember the 
seve|:ed cord of affection, still bleeding, and beware 
not to wound by a thoughtless act, or a careless word. 
The stranger ! he, perchance, has lived in an atmos- 
phere of love as warm as that we breathe. Alone 
and friendless now, he treasures the images of loved 
ones far away, and when gentle words and warm 
kisses are exchanged, we know not how his heart 
-v,,^^^ thrills and the hot tear drops start. Speak gently. 
"^"The impatient word your friends may^ utter does not 
wound, so mailed are you in the impenetrable armor 
of love. You knew that it was an inadvertent word 
that both will forget in a moment after, or, if not, you 
can bear the censure of one, when so many love you ; 
but keenly is an unkind remark felt by the lone and 
friendless one. 

Like a clinging vine torn from its support, the 
stranger's heart begins to twine its tendrils around 
the first object which is presented to it. Is love so 
cheap a thing in this world, or have we already so 
much that we can lightly cast off the instinctive affec- 
tions thus proffered ? Oh, do not ! To some souls 
an atmosphere of love is as necessary as the vital air 
to the physical system. A person of such a nature 





Ah' 















-V'^ 



r 



^■' 

-:>>'$ 
^ H; 





f 




may clothe one in Imagination with all the attributes 
of goodness and make his heart's sacrifices at the 
shrine. Let us not cruelly destroy the illusion by 
unkindness ! 

Let the name of stranger be ever sacred, whether 
it be that of an honored guest at our fireside, or the 
poor servant girl in our kitchen ; the gray-haired or 
the young; and when we find ourselves far from 
friends, and the dear associations of home, and so 
lonely, may some kind, some angel-hearted being, by 
sympathizing words and acts, cause our hearts to 
thrill with unspoken gratitude, and thus we will find 
again the bread long ''cast upon the waters." 

Our friends we must prize and appreciate while we 
are with them. It is a shame not to know how much 
we love our friends, and how good they are, till they 
die. We must seize with joy all our opportunities ; 
our duties we must perform with pleasure ; our sacri- 
fices we must make cheerfully, knowing that he who 
sacrifices most is noblest ; we must forgive with an 
understanding of the glory of forgiveness, and use 
the blessings we have, realizing how great are small 
blessings when properly accepted. 

Hard words are like hail-stones in summer, beating 
down and destroying what they would nourish if they 
were melted Into drops. 

Kindness is stored away In the heart like rose-leaves 
in a drawer to sweeten every object around them. 
Little drops of rain brighten the meadows, and little 
acts of kindness brighten the world. We can con- 
ceive of nothing more attractive than the heart when 



\\ ^ 



ii)* 



FRIENDSHIP. 



411 



filled with the spirit of kindness. Certainly nothing 
so embellishes human nature as the practice of this 
virtue ; a sentiment so genial and so excellent ought 
to be emblazoned upon every thought and act of our 
life. The principle underlies the whole theory of 
Christianity, and in no other person do we find it 
more happily exemplified than in our Savior, who, 
while on earth, went about doing good. And how 
true it is that 

"A little word in kindness spoken, 
A motion, or a tear, 
Has often heal'd the heart that's broken. 
And made a friend sincere ! " 



-^3 



-5-»f 



^^ 







Pure, disinterested friendship, is a bright flame, 
emitting none of the smoke of selfishness, and sel- 
dom deigns to tabernacle among men. Its origin is 
divine, its operations heavenly, and its results enrap- 
turing to the soul. It is because it is the perfection 
of earthly bliss that the world has ever been flooded 
with base counterfeits, many so thickly coated with 
the pure metal, that nothing but time can detect the 
base interior and ulterior designs of bogus friends. 
Deception is a propensity deeply rooted in human 
nature, and the hobby horse on which some ride 
through life. TAe heart is deceitful above all 
things; zvho can knozv it? 




--V 



■~v-.x. 



^ 




Caution has been termed the parent of safety, but 
has often been baffled by a Judas kiss. The most 
cautious have been the dupes and victims of the basest 
deceivers. We should be extremely careful who we 
confide in, and then we will often find ourselves mis- 
taken. Let adversity come, then we may know more 
of our friends. Many will probably show that they 
were sunshine .friends, and will escape as for their 
lives, like rats from a barn in flames ! Ten to one, 
those who have enjoyed the most sunshine will be 
the first to forsake, censure and reproach. Friend^ 
ship, based entirely on self, ends in desertion the 
moment the selfish ends are accomplished or frustrated. 

" Disguise so near the truth doth seem to run, 
'Tis doubtful whom to seek or whom to shun ; 
Nor know we when to spare or when to strike, 
Our friends and foes they seem so much alike." 

Friendship is a flower that blooms in all seasons ; it 
may be seen flourishing on the snow-capped moun- 
tains of Northern Russia, as well as in more favored 
valleys of sunny Italy, everywhere cheering us by its 
exquisite and indescribable charms. No surveyed 
chart, no national boundary line, no rugged mountain 
or steep declining vale puts a limit to its growth. 
Wherever it is watered with the dews of kindness and 
affection, there you may be sure to find it. Allied in 
closest companionship with its twin-sister, charity, it 
enters the abode of sorrow and wretchedness, and 
causes happiness and peace. It knocks at the lonely 
and disconsolate heart, and speaks words of encour- 
and joy. Its all-powerful influence hovers 



^ 



I 



W^ 



\ 






FRIENDSHIP. 



over contendInc>" armies and unites the deadly foes in 
the closest bonds of sympathy and kindness. Its 
eternal and universal fragrance dispels every thought 
of envy, and purifies the mind with a holy and price- 
less contentment which all the pomp and power of 




-, earth could not besto 



w. 



In vain do we look for this 




^-^ 



n 



heavenly flower in the cold, calculating worlding ; the 
poor, deluded wretch is dead to every feeling of its 
ennobling virtue. In vain do we look for it in the 
actions of the proud and aristocratic votaries of fash- 
ion ; the love of self-display and of the false and fleet- 
ing pleasures of the world, has banished it forever 
from their hearts. In vain do we look for it in the 
thoughtless and practical throng, who with loud laugh 
and extended open hands, proclaim obedience to its 
laws — while at the same time the canker of malice 
and envy and detraction is enthroned in their hearts 
and active on their tongues. Friendship, true friend- 
ship, can only be found to bloom in the soil of a noble 
and self-sacrificing heart; there it has a perennial 
liummer, a never-ending season of felicity and joy to 
Its happy possessor, casting a thousand rays of love 
and hope and peace to all around. 

No one can be happy without a friend, and no one 
can know what friends he has until he is unhappy. 

It has been observed that a real friend is somewhat 
like a ghost or apparition ; much talked of, but hardly 
ever seen. Though this may not be exactly true, it 
must, however, be confessed that a friend does not 




appear every day, and that he who in reality has 
found one, ought to value the boon, and be thankful. 




V J 



Cl 



^mE 



;^ ; ! 



414 



FRIENDSHIP. 



! ;:i 








''^ 



Where persons are united by the bonds of genuine 
friendship, there is nothing, perhaps, more conducive 
to feHcity. It supports and strengthens the mind, 
alleviates the pain of life, and renders the present 
state, at least, somewhat comfortable. ''Sorrows," 
says Lord Bacon, ''by being communicated, grow less, 
and joys greater." "And indeed," observes another, 
"sorrow, like a stream, loses itself in many channels; 
while joy, like a ray of the sun, reflects with a greater 
ardor and quickness when it rebounds upon a man 
from the breast of his friend." 

The friendship which is founded upon good tastes 
and congenial habits, apart from piety, is permitted 
by the benignity of Providence to embellish a world, 
which, with all its magnificence and beauty, will 
shortly pass away ; that which has religion for its 
basis will ere long be transplanted in order to adorn 
the paradise of God. 

There is true enjoyment in that friendship which 
has its source in the innocence and uprightness of a 
true heart. Such pleasures do greatly sweeten life, 
easing it from many a bitter burden. A sympathizing 
heart finds an echo in sympathizing bosoms that bring 
back cheering music to the spirit of the loveliest. 
Be all honor, then, to true friendship, and may it 
gather yet more fragant blossoms from the dew- 
bathed meadows of social intercourse, to spread their 
aroma along the toil-worn road of life. What a 
blessing it is to have a friend to whom one can speak 
fearlessly upon any subject ; with whom one's deep- 
est thoughts come simply and safely. O, the comfort, 



m 



NVl 



0: 




FRlENDSIIir. 



415 



II. 



^^ 



the inexpressible comfort, of feeling- safe with a per- 
having- neither to weigh the thoughts nor 



son 



measure the words, but pouring them all right out, 
just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that 
a faithful hand will take and sift them ; keep what is 
worth keeping, and then, with the breath of kindness, 
blow the rest away. 

If any form an intimacy merely for what they can 
gain by it, this is not true friendship in such a person. 
It must be free from any such selfish view, and only 
design mutual benefit as each may require. Again, it 
must be unreserved. It is true indeed that friends 
are not bound to reveal to each other all their family 
concerns, but they should be ever ready to disclose 
what may in any point of view concern each other. 
Lastly, it is benevolent. Friends must study to 
please and oblige each other in the most delicate,/if^ 
kind, and liberal manner; and that in poverty and 
trouble, as well as in riches or prosperity. The 
benevolence of friends is also manifested in overlook- 
ing each other's faults, and, in the most tender man- 
ner, admonishing each other when they do amiss. 
Upon the whole, the purse, the heart, and the house 
ought to be open to a friend, and in no case can we 
shut out either of them, unless upon clear proofs of 
treachery, immorality, or some other great crime. 

The first law of friendship is sincerity ; and he who 
violates this law, will soon find himself destitute of 
what he so erringly seeks to gain ; for the deceitful 
heart of such an one will soon betray Itself, and feel 
the contempt due to insincerity. The world is so full 







of selfishness, that true friendship is seldom found; 
yet it is often sought for paltry gain by the base and 
designing. Behold that toiling miser, with his ill-got 
and worthless treasures ; his soul is never moved by 
the hallowed influence of the sacred boon of friend- 
ship, which renews again on earth lost Eden's faded 
bloom, and flings hope's halcyon halo over the wastes 
of life. The envious man — he, too, seeks to gain 
the appla:use of others for an unholy usage, by which 
he may usurp a seat of pre-eminence for himself 
Self-love, the spring of motion, acts upon the soul. 
All are fond of praise, and many are dishonest in the 
use of means to obtain it ; hence it is often difficult to 
distinguish between true and false friendship. 



i 



^i*^ 



11 



All the blessedness, all the utility, efficacy, and 
happiness of the married state, depend upon its 
truthfulness, or the wisdom of the union. Marriage 
is not necessarily a blessing. It may be the bitterest 
curse. It may sting like an adder and bite like a 
serpent. Its bower is as often made of thorns as of 
roses. It blasts as many sunny expectations as it 
realizes. Every improper marriage is a living misery, 
an undying death, Its bonds are grated bars of 
frozen iron. It is a spirit prison, cold as the dungeon 
of ruin. An illy-mated human pair is the most woe- 
ful picture of human wretchedness that is presented 






i*!i.. 



^^ 







COUKTSniP. 



VJ-, 



C^ 




y^ y 









in the book of life ; and yet, such pictures are plenty. 
Every page we turn gives us a view of some such 
living bondage. But a proper marriage, a true in- 
terior, soul-linked union is a living picture of bless- 
edness, unrivaled in beauty. A true marriage is the 
;/SQi;l/3 Eden. It is the portal of heaven. It is the 
\4s».itin^ -place of angels. It is the charm indescrib;/ '^ / 
.abte^of a spirit Jn--captivation with all imaginable' 
beauty and Ibveliness. It is a constant peace-offer- 
ing, that procures a continual Sabbath-day sweetness, 
rich as the quietude of reposing angels. It is not 
given to words to express the refinement of pleasure, 
the delicacy of joy and the abounding fullness of sat- 
isfaction that those feel whom God hath joined in a 
high marriage of spirit. Such a union is the highest 
school of virtue, the soul's convent, where the vestal 
ISres of purity are kept continually burning. 

Marriage, then, should be made a: study; •- Every 
youth, both male and female, should so consider it. 
It is the grand social institution of humanity. Its 
laws and relations are of momentous importance to 
the race. Shall it be entered blindly, in total ignor- 
ance of what it is, what its conditions of happiness 
are ? 

"Marriage is a lottery," exclaim so many men and 
women you meet. And why is it so ? Simply because 
courtship is a grand scheme of deception. Is it not 
so ? Who courts honestly ? Some, it is true ; but 
few, indeed. Let us see, it is conducted something 
like this : A young man and woman meet at a party, 
ball, school, or church. The young man sees some- 
27 




.-"tn 





thing in the lady that attracts his attention ; it may 
be her pretty face, her golden curls, her flashing eyes, 
her delicate hand or slender waist, or snowy neck, or 
graceful carriage, or more likely, the pluTnage in 
which the bird shines. He looks again, and then 
again, and without one particle of sense or reason 
for it, save that he has caught the fair one's eye, his 
attraction rises into enchantment. He seeks an in- 
troduction. A little parley of nonsense ensues, about 
fashion, parties, beaux and belles, and a few jokes 
pass about "invitations," ''runaway matches," etc.; 
then an appointment for another meeting, a walk, a 
visit to an ice-cream saloon, a neighbor, or something 
of the kind, follows, and they part, both determined, 
in the utmost desperation, to catch the prize if pos- 
sible. They dream, and sing, and make verses about 
each other, and meditate ways and means to appear 
captivating at the next meeting, till it arrives, when, 
lo ! they meet, all wreathed in smiles and shining in 
beautiful things. How can it be otherwise than that 
their fascination shall become absolute adoration now. 
The afternoon and evening are spent together, each 
in perfect delight. The lovers talk about flowers, 
and stars, and poetry, and give hints, and signs, and 
tokens, till each understands the other's bewitchery. 

They are engaged and get married. 

Married life now comes and ushers in its morning 
glory, and they are happy as a happy pair can well be 
for a while. But ''life is real," and character is real, 
and love is real. When life's reality comes they find 
things in each other's characters that perfectly startle 




\\: 








them. Every day reveals somethlno- new and some- 
thino; unpleasant. The courtship character slowly 
fades away, and with it the courtship love. Now 
comes disappointment, sorrow, regret. They find 
that their characters are entirely dissimilar. Married 
life is a burden, full of cares, vexations, and disap- 
. ppintments. But they must make the best of it, and 

J^$^^=Mt.'K^ftthro2Lo-Ji. Yes, marriage is a lottery. They 
ff kntxw it. Some may get prizes, and some may not. 
No one knows before he draws, whether he will draw 
a blank or a prize. This is their conclusion. They 
did not court in the right way. They courted by 
impulse, and not by judgment; it was a process of 
■ wooing, and not of discovery ; it was an effort to 
please, and not a search for companionship ; it was 
done with excitement, and not with calmness and 
^Xl^Seliberation ; it was done in haste, and not with J& 
cautious prudence ; it was a vision oi the-%'eart, a1i( 
not a solemn reality ; it was conducted by feeling, and 
not by reason ; It was so managed as to be a per- 
petual blandishment of pleasure, the most intoxicat- 
ing and delightful, and not a trying ordeal for the 
enduring realities of solid and stubborn life ; it was a 
perpetual yielding up of every thing, and not a firm 
maintaining of every thing that belongs to the man or 
w^oman. In almost every particular it was false, and 
hence must be followed by evil consequences. All 
similar courting is bad. Courtship, as it is generally 
conducted, Is a game at ''blind-man's-buff," only that 
both parties are blinded. They voluntarily blinr' 
themselves, and then blind each other; and thus they 






ry: 





"g-o it blind," till their eyes are opened in marriage. 
It is necessary for the youth of both sexes to be per- 
fectly honest in their intercourse with each other, so 
as to exhibit always their true character and nature. 
Dishonesty is, perhaps, a greater barrier even than 
ignorance to a proper understanding- of the real char- 
acter of those with whom we contemplate matrimonial 
alliances. Young- men and women are not true to 
themselves. They put on false characters. They 
assume airs not their own. They shine in borrowed 
plumes. They practice every species of deception 
for the concealment of their real characters. They 
study to appear better than they are. They seek, by 
the adornments of dress and gems, by the blandish- 
ments of art and manner, by the allurements of smiles 
and honeyed words, by the fascination of pleasure 
and scenes of excitement, to add unreal, unpossessed 
charms to their persons and characters. They appear 
in each other's society to be the embodiment of good- 
ness and sweetness, the personification of lofty prin- 
ciple and holy love, when, in fact, they are full of 
human weaknesses and frailties. 

The object of courtship is the choice of a compan- 
ion. It is not to woo ; it is not to charm or gratify, 
or please, simply for the present pleasure ; it is not 
for the present sweets of such an intimate and con- 
fiding intercourse. It is simply and plainly for the 
selection of a life companion ; one who must bear, 
suffer, and enjoy life with us in all its frowns and 
smiles, joys and sorrows ; one who can walk pleas- 
antly, willingly, and confidingly, by our side, through 





^'^Il-^' 






COURTSIIII 



G 




ss 




all the intricate and changing vicissitudes incident to 
mortal life. Now, how shall courtship be conducted 
so as to make marriage a certainty and not a lottery? 
This is the question. 

Now let us ask what is to be sought? You answer, 
■2t€3>mpanion. What is a companion? A congenial 
^^s|5i.i^iL.jDne possessed of an mterior constitution^^W 
a^^tk^tmi^ to oiix^own, oi similar age, opinio^> 
'tast(g^^ habits, modes of thought, and feeling. A 
congenial spirit is one who, under any given com- 
bination of circumstances, would be affected, and feel 
and act as we ourselves would. It is one who would 
enjoy what we would enjoy, dislike what w^e would 
dislike, approve what we would approve, and con- 
demn what we would condemn, not for the purpose 
of agreeing with us, but of his or her own free will. 
This is a companion; one whp. is kindred in 'souj'^'l 
with us; who is already united to ^s^ by the ties of "<' 
spiritual harmony; which union it is the object of 
courtship to discover. Courtship, then, is a voyage 
of discovery ; or a court of inquiry, established by 
mutual consent of the parties, to see wherein and to 
what extent there is a harmony existing. If in all 
these they honestly and inmostly agree, and find a 
deep and thrilling pleasure in their agreement, find 
their union of sentiment to give a charm to their 
social intercourse ; if now they feel that their hearts 
are bound as well as their sentiments in a holy unity, 
and that for each other they would live, and labor, 
and make every personal sacrifice with gladness, and 
that without each other they know not how to live, it 





f'ir 





,m 





W\ 




is their privilege, yes, their d^i^y, to form a matrimonial 
alliance. And it will not be a lottery. They know 
what they are to give and what they are to get. They 
will be married in the full blaze of light and love, and 
be married for a happy, virtuous, and useful union, to 
bless themselves and the world with a living type of 
heaven. 



-^mm- 



The ostensible object of courtship is the choice of 
a companion. For no other object should any inter- 
course having the appearance of courtship be permit- 
ted or indulged in. It is a species of high-handed 
fraud upon an unsuspecting heart, worthy of the 
heaviest penalty of public opinion, or law. The affec- 
tions are too tender and sacred to 1dg trifled with. 
He who does it is a wretch. He should be ranked 
among thieves, robbers, villains, and murderers. He 
who steals money steals trash ; but he who steals 
affections without a return of similar affections steals 
that which is dearer than life and more precious than 
wealth. His theft is a robbery of the heart. 

Flirting is a horrid outrage upon the most holy 
and exalted feelings of the human soul, and the most 
sacred and important relation of life. It is a vulgar- 
ism and wickedness to be compared only to blas- 
phemy. It had, and still has, its origin in the basest 
kist. The refined soul is always disgusted with it. 






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It is awfully demoralizing in its tendency, and low 
and base in its character. It is true, many bandy 
their low jokes upon this matter in thoughtlessness ; 
but if they would take one moment's sober reflection 
upon it, they would see the impropriety of jesting 
about the most delicate, serious, and sacred feelings 
and relations in human existence. The whole ten- 
dgpcy of such lightness is to cause the marriage 
I^^^Sl^'to be lightly esteemed, and courtship to be 
made'^ a round of low fun and frolic, in which every 
species of deception is endeavored to be played off. 
Until it is viewed in its true light, in that sober earn- 
estness which the subject demands, how can courtship 
be anything else than a grand game of hypocrisy, 
resulting in wickedness and misery the most ruinous 
and deplorable ? 

There is much trifling courting among the y^nng 
some portions of the country that results Jtt' suej^ 
calamitous consequences ; carried on sometimes when 
the young man means nothing but present pleasure, 
and sometimes when the young woman has no other 
object in view. Such intercourse is confined mostly 
to young men and women bclbre they are of age. 
It is a crying evil, worthy o^ the severest censure. 

A case was recently trijd in Rutland, Vermont, in 
which a Miss Munson recovered fourteen hundred 
and twenty-five dollars of a Mr. Hastings for a 
breach of marriage contract. The curiosity of the 
thing is this : The Vermont judge charged the jury 
that no explicit promise was necessary to bind the 
parties to a marriage contract, but that long continued 








-Or 



X: 



FLIRTING. 



attentions or intimacy with a female was as good evi- 
dence of intended matrimony as a special contract. 
The principle of the case undoubtedly is, that if 
Hastings did not promise, he ought to have done so 
— the law holds him responsible for the non-perfor- 
mance of his duty. A most excellent decision. We 
think if there were more such cases there would be 
ess flirting. 

One of the meanest things a young man can do 
(and it is not at all of uncommon occurrence) is to 
monopolize the time and attention of a young girl for 
a year, or more, without any definite object, and to 
the exclusion of other gentlemen, who, supposing him 
to have matrimonial intentions, absent themselves 
from her society. This selfish "dog-in-the-manger" 
way of proceeding should be discountenanced and 
forbidden by all parents and guardians. It prevents 
the reception of eligible offers of marriage, and fast- 
ens upon the young lady, when the acquaintance is 
finally dissolved, the unenviable and immerited appel- 
lation of ''flirt." Let all your dealings with women, 
young man, be frank, honest and noble. That many 
whose education and position in life would warrant 
our looking for better things in them, are culpably 
criminal on these points, is no excuse for your short- 
comings. That woman is often injured, or wronged, 
through her holiest feelings, adds but a blacker dye to 
your m.eanness. One rule is always safe: Treat 
every woinan you meet as you would wish another 
man to treat yotir ifinocenty confiding sister. 




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.Ht.-. 



Marriage has a great refining- and moralizing ten 
dency. Nearly all the debauchery and crime is com 
mitteU-^y"\ unmarried men, or by those who hay:^| 
wives equal to none^ at least to them. When a mart 
marries early, and uses prudence in choosing a suit- 
able companion, he is likely to lead a virtuous, happy 
life. But in an unmarried state, all alluring vices 
have a tendency to draw him away. We notice in 
the state penitentiary reports that nearly all the crimi- 
nals are bachelors. The more married men you have, 
the fewer crimes there will be. Marriage renders a 
man more virtuous and more wise. An unmarried 
man is but half of a perfect being, and it requires the 
other half to make things right; and it cannot be 
expected that in this imperfect state he can keep 
straight in the path of rectitude any more than a boat 
with one oar can keep a straight course. In nine 
cases out of ten, where married men become drunk- 
ards, or where they commit crimes against the peace 
of the community, the foundation of these acts was 
laid while in a single state, or where the wife is, as is 
sometimes the case, an unsuitable match. Marriage 
changes the current of a man's feelings and gives him 
a centre for his thoughts, his affections and his acts. 

If it were intended for man to be single, there 
would be no harm In remaining so ; and, on the other 
hand, it would become a crime if any persons would 






,__»— E;^^W- 




Cife' 





i^l 




426 



BACHELORS. 




unite and live as wedded. But, since this is not the 
Divine law, it is a sin and crime if healthful men and 
women do not marry, and live as they were designed 
to live. 

Marriage is a school and exercise of virtue ; and 
though marriage have cares, yet single life has 
desires, which are more troublesome and more dan- 
gerous, and often end in sin ; while the cares are but 
exercises of piety; and, therefore, if the single life 
have more privacy of devotion, yet marriage has 
more variety of it, and is an exercise of more graces. 
Marriage is the proper scene of piety and patience, 
of the duty of parents and the charity of relations ; 
here kindness is spread abroad, and love is united 
and made firm as a centre. Marriage is the nursery 
of heaven. The virgin sends prayers to God ; but 
she carries but one soul to him ; but the state of her 
marriage fills up the numbers of the elect, and has in 
it the labor of love, and the delicacies of friendship, 
the blessings of society, and the union of hearts and 
hands. It has in it more safety than the single life ; 
it has more care, it is more merry and more sad ; is 
fuller of sorrow and fuller of joys ; it lies under more 
burdens, but is supported by all the strength of love 
and charity which makes those burdens delightful. 
Marriage is the mother of the world, and preserves 
kingdoms, and fills cities, and churches, and heaven 
itself, and is that state of good things to which God 
has designed the present constitution of the world. 

We advise every young man to get married. Tht 
chances are better by fifty per cent, all through life, 



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in every respect. There is no tear shed for the old 
bachelor; there is no ready hand and kind heart to 
cheer him in his loneliness and bereavement ; there is 
none in whose eyes he can see himself reflected, and 
from whose lips he can receive the unfailino^ assur- 
ances of care and love. He may be courted for his 
money ; he may eat and drink and revel ; and he may 
sicken and die in a hotel or a garret, with plenty of 
"ai^endants about him, like so many cormorants wait- 
ing for their prey ; but he will never know the com- 
forts of the domestic fireside. 

The guardians of the Holborn Union lately adver- 
tised for candidates to fill the situation of engineer 
at the work-house, a single man, a wife not being 
allowed to reside on the premises. Twenty-one 
candidates presented themselves, but it was found 
that as to testimonials, character, workmanship, and 
~^ //jfc- appearance, the best men were all married men. The 
guardians had therefore to elect a married man. 

A man who avoids matrimony on account of the 
cares of wedded life, cuts himself off from a great 
blessing for fear of a trifling annoyance, He rivals 
the wiseacre who secured himself against corns by 
having his legs amputated. Bachelor brother, there 
cannot, by any possibility, be a home where there is 
no wife. To talk of a home without love, we might 
as well expect to find an American fireside in one of 
the pyramids of Egypt. 

There is a worlci of wisdom in the following: 
'* Every schoolboy knows that a kite would not fly 
unless it had a string tying it down. It is just so 




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428 



INFLUENCE OF MA TRIMO'NY. 



in life. The man who is tied down by half-a-dozen 
blooming- responsibilities and their mother, will make 
a higher and stronger flight than the bachelor, who, 
having nothing to keep him steady, is always floun- 
dering in the mud. If you want to ascend in the 
world, tie yourself to somebody." 



Marriage is an occasion on which none refuse to 
sympathize. Would that all were equally able and 
willing to understand ! Would that all could know 
how, from the first flow of the affections till they are 
shed abroad in all their plentitude, the purposes of 
their creation become fulfilled. They were to life 
like a sleeping ocean to a bright but barren and silent 
shore. When the breeze from afar awakened it, new 
lights began to gleam, and echoes to be heard ; rich 
and unthought-of treasures were cast up from the 
depths ; the barriers of individuality were broken 
down ; and from thenceforth, they who chose might 
''hear the mighty waters rolling evermore." Would 
that all could know how, by this mJghty impulse, new 
strength is given to every power — how the intellect 
is vivified and enlarged — how the spirit becomes bold 
to explore the path of life, and clear-sighted to discern 
its issues ! 

Marriage is, to a woman, at once the happies* and 






f 







iMATRlMONV 




i^. 






Sdcldest event of her life ; it is the promise -of future 
bliss, raised on the death of all present enjoyment. 
She quits her home, her parents, her companions, her 
occupations, her amusements — her everything upon 
which she has hitherto depended for comfort — for 
i>'^r^/ affection, for kindness, for pleasure. The parents by 
'whose advice she has been guided, the sister to whom <,. 
.she^i%s- dared imfyart every embryo thought and feel- 
ing, tpe' brother who has played with her, in turns 
the counselor and the counseled, and the younger 
children to whom she has hitherto been the mother 
and the playmate — all are to be forsaken in one in- 
stant; every former tie is loosened, the spring of 
every hope and action to be changed, and yet she 
flies with joy into the untrodden paths before her. 
^ v^^^^ Buoyed up by the confidence of requited love, she 
'^C^l^^j'""^ Hids a fond and g^rateful adieu, to the life that is 
<^,>^m past, and turns wath excited hopes arfd joyous antici- 
pations of the happiness to come. Then woe to 
the man who can blast such hopes — who can, coward- 
like, break the illusions that have won her, and 
destroy the confidence which his love inspired. 

There is no one thing more lovely in this life, more 
full of the divinest courage, than when a young 
maiden, from her past life, from her happy childhood, 
when she rambled over every field and moor around 
her home ; when a mother anticipated her wants and 
soothed her little cares ; when brothers and sisters 
grew from merry playmates to laving, trustful friends ; 
from the Christmas gatherings and romps, the sum- 
mer festivals in bower or garden ; from the rooms 




M 









INFLUENCE OF MATRIMONY. 



sanctified by the death of relatives ; from the holy 
and secure backgrounds of her childhood, and girl- 
hood, and maidenhood, looks out into a dark and 
unillumined future, away from all that, and yet unter- 
rified, undaunted, leans her fair cheek upon her lover's 
breast, and whispers, ''Dear heart! I cannot see, but 
I believe. The past was beautiful, but the future I 
can trust with thcc!'' 

Wherever women plights her truth, under the sky 
of heaven, at the domestic hearth, or in the conse- 
crated aisles, the ground is holy, the spirit of the 
hour is sacramental. That it is thus felt even by the 
most trivial m.ay be observed at the marriage cere- 
mony. Though the mirth may be fast and furious 
before or after the irrevocable formula is spoken, yet 
at that point of time there is a shadow on the most 
laughing lip — a moisture in the firmest eye. Wed- 
lock, indissoluble, except by an act of God — a sacra- 
ment whose solemnity reaches to eternity — will 
always hold its rank in literature, as the most impres- 
sive fact of human experience in dramatic writing, 
whether of the stage or closet, the play or novel. It 
must be so. If goverment, with all its usurpations 
and aggressions, have appropriated history, let the 
less ambitious portions of our literature be sacred to 
the affections — to the family, based upon conjugal 
and parental love, as that institution is the state 
which hitherto in the world's annals, has been little 
else than the sad exponent of human ambition. 

A judicious wife is always snipping off from her 
husband's moral nature little twigs that are growing 





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INFLUEiNCI^ OK M A'J'RIMONY. 



431 



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in the wrong direction. She keeps him in shape by 
continual pruning. If you say anything silly, she will 
affectionately tell you so. If you declare you will do 
some absurd thing, she will find means of preventing 
you from doing it. And by far the chief part of all 
common sense there is in this world belongs unques- 
tionably to woman. The wisest things which a man 
commonly does are those which his wife counsels him 
to do. A wufe is the ofrand wielder of the moral 
pruning knife. When you see a man appearing 
shabby, hair uncombed, and no buttons on his coat, 
nine times out of ten you are correct in concluding 
that he is a bachelor. You can conclude much the 
same when you see a man profane, or speaking 
vulgarly of ladies. We would add that young men 
who wish to appear well in every respect should,eget 
C^fiarried. It has been well said, '*A man unmarrietj 
is but half a man." '^~' 

It was thus surely^ that intellectual beings of differ- 
ent sexes were intended by their great Creator to go 
through the world together ; thus united, not only in 
hand and heart, but in principles, in intellect, in views, 
and in dispositions ; both pursuing one common and 
noble end — their own improvement and the happi- 
ness of those around them — by the different means 
appropriate to their situation ; mutually correcting, 
sustaining and strengthening each other; undegraded 
by all practices of tyranny on the one hand and of 
deceit on the other; each finding a candid but severe 
judge in the understanding, and a warm and partial 
advocate in the heart of his and her companion; 






secure of a refuge from the vexations, the follies, the 
misunderstandings and the evils of the world in the 
arms of each other, and in the inestimable enjoyments 
of undisturbed confidence and unrestrained intimacy. 
The law that binds the one man to the one woman 
is indelibly written by nature, that wherever it is vio- 
lated in the general system, the human race is found 
to deteriorate in mind and form. The ennobling 
influences of woman cease ; the wife is a companion 
— a hundred wives are but a hundred slaves. Nor 
is this all, unless man look to a woman as a treasure 
to be wooed and won — her smile the charm of his 
existence — her single heart the range of his desires 
^— that which deserves the name of love cannot exist; 
it is struck out of the system of society. Now, if 
there be a passion in the human breast which most 
tends to lift us out of egotism and self, which most 
teaches us to love another, which purifies and warms 
the whole mortal being, it is love, as we hold it and 
cherish it. For even when the fair spring of youth 
has passed, and when the active life of man is em- 
ployed in such grave pursuits that the love of his 
early years seems to him like a dream of romance, 
still that love, having once lifted him out of egotism 
into sympathy, does but pass into new forms and 
development — it has locked his heart to charity and 
benevolence — it gives a smile to his home — it rises 
up in the eyes of his children — from his he^rt it cir- 
culates insensibly on to all the laws that protect the 
earth, to the native lands which spread around it. 
Thus in the history of the world we discover that 




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INFLUENCE OF MATRIMONY. 



vv^ierever love is created, as it were, and sanctioned 
by that equality between the sexes which the perma- 
nent and holy union of one heart with another pro- 
claims ; there, too, patriotism, liberty — the manly 
and gentle virtues — also find their place; and wher- 
ever, on the contrary, polygamy is practiced and love 
disappears in the gross satiety of the senses, there 
we find neither respect for humanity nor reverence 
for home, nor affection for the natal soil. And one 
reason why Greece is contrasted, in all that dignifies 
our nature, with the effeminate and dissolute charac- 
ter of the East which it overthrew, is, that Greece 
was the earliest civilized country in which, on the 
borders of those great monarchies, marriage was the 
sacred tie between one man and one woman — and 
man was the thoughtful father of a home, not the 
wanton lord of a seraglio. 

Nothing delights one more than to enter the neat 
little tenement of the young couple, who, within per- 
haps two or three years, without any resources but 
their own knowledge or industry, have joined heart 
and hand, and engaged to share together the respon- 
sibilities, duties, interests, trials and pleasures of life. 
The industrious wife Is cheerfully employed with her 
own hands in domestic duties, putting her house in 
order, or mending her husband's clothes, or preparing 
the dinner, whilst, perhaps, the little darling sits prat- 
tling on the floor, or lies sleeping in the cradle, and 
every thing seems preparing to welcome the happiest 
of husbands, and the best of fathers, when he shall 
come from his toil to enjoy the sweets of his little 

















434 



INFLUENCE OF MATRIMONY. 




^C 



paradise. This is the true domestic pleasure. Health, 
contentment, love, abundance, and bright prospects, 
are all here. But it has became a prevalent sentiment 
that a man must acquire his fortune before he marries, 
that the wife must have no sympathy nor share with 
him in the pursuit of it, in which most of the pleasure 
truly consists ; and the youn^ married people must set 
out with as large and expensive an establishment as 
is becoming to those who have been wedded for 
twenty years. This is very unhappy ; it fills the com- 
munity with bachelors, who are waiting to make their 
fortunes, endangering virtue and promoting vice ; it 
destroys the true economy and design of the domestic 
institution, and encourages inefficiency among fe- 
males, who are expecting to be taken up by fortune 
and passively sustained, without any care or concern 
on their part; and thus many a wife becomes, as a 
gentleman once remarked, not a ''help-meet," but a 
*' help-eat." 

The Creator found that it was not good for man to 
be alone. Therefore he made woman to be a ''help- 
meet for him." And for many ages history has 
shown that "the permanent union of one man with 
one woman establishes a relation of affections and 
interests which can in no other way be made to exist 
between two human beings." To establish this rela- 
tion was one of the great designs of God in giving 
the rite to man ; and by establishing this relation, 
marriage becomes to him an aid in the stern conflict 
of life. This it is in a theoretical point of view. 
This, too, It has often proved in practical life. Many 




INFLUENCE OF MATklMONV. 



a man has risen from obscurity to fame, who, in the 
days of his triumphant victory, has freely and grate- 
fully acknowledged that to the sympathy and encour- 
agement of his wife, during the long and weary 
years of toil, he owed very much of his achieved 
success. 

But while .young men say they cannot marry 
because the girls of this generation are too extrava- 
gant, the fault by no means is altogether with the 
girls. In the first place, young men, as a general 
thing, admire the elegant costumes in which many 
ladies appear, and do not hesitate to express their 
admiration to those who are more plainly dressed. 
And what is the natural effect of this ? In the second 
place many young men are too proud themselves to 
commence their married life in a quiet, economical 
way. They are not willing to marry until they have 
money enough to continue all their own private 
luxuries, and also support a wife in style. The 
difficulty is not altogether on either side ; but if 
both men and women would be true to the best 
feelings of their hearts, and careless about what the 
world would say, pure and happy and noble homes 
would be more abundant. This state of affairs is 
very unfortunate for both parties. It leaves woman 
without a home and without protection or support. 
Woman needs the strength and courage of man, and 
he needs her cheerfulness, her sympathy, her conso- 
lation. Our papers tell us, that in a single New 
England city, there are nearly thirty thousand young 
men, already engaged, who are putting off marriage 




until they can make enough to support their wives. 
So it is throughout the country. Young men need 
the restraining and elevating influences of home. 
But as it is now the man must commence business 
alone, fight his own battles without sympathy or 
consolation, win, if possible, by years of arduous toil, 
a competence ; and when the conflict is over, the toil 
is past, and the victory is won, then he can have a 
wife and a home. A man to succeed well in life 

§^ needs the influence of a pure-minded woman, and her 

- -C. sympathy to sweeten the cup of life. 



.^.|.^.^. 



If you are for pleasure, marry; if you prize rosy 
health, marry. A good wife is heaven's last best gift 
to man; his angel of mercy; minister of graces innu- 
merable ; his gem of many virtues ; his casket uf 
jewels. Her voice is his sweetest music ; her smiies 
his brightest days ; her kiss the guardian of innocence ; 
her arms the pale of his safety, the balm of his health, 
the balsam of his life ; her industry his surest wealth ; 
her economy his safest steward ; her lips his faithful 
counselor; her bosom the softest pillow of his cares; 
and her prayers the ablest advocates of heaven's 
blessings on his head. 

Woman's influence is the sheet anchor of society ; 
and this influence is due not exclusively to the 





ir:\-^ 




\ 1 




fascination of her charms, but chiefly to the strength, 
unformity, and consistency of her virtues, maintained 
under so many sacrifices, and with so much fortitude 
and heroism. Without these endowments and quaH- 
fications, external attractions are nothing; but with 

/ .them, their power is irresistible. 

-^^ Beauty and virtue are the crowning attributes 
stowed by natuie^upon woman, and the bounty oi 
heaven more than compensates for the injustice oi 
man. Sometimes we hear both sexes repine at their 
change, relate the happiness of their earlier years, 
blame the folly and rashness of their own choice, and 
warn those that are coming into the world against 
the same precipitance and infatuation. But it is to 
be remembered that the days which they so much 
wish to call back, are the days not only of celibacy 

_ but of youth, the days of novelty and improvement, 
of ardor and of hope, of health and vigor of body, 
of gayety and lightness of heart. It is not easy to 
surround life with any circumstances in which youth 
will not be delightful ; and we are afraid that whether 
married or unmarried, we shall find the vesture oi 
terrestrial existence more heavy and cumbrous the 
longer it is worn. 

Once for all, there is no misery so distressful as the 
desperate agony of trying to keep young when one 
cannot. We know an old bachelor who has attempted 
it. His affectation of youth, like all affectations, is a 
melancholy failure. He is a fast young man of fifty. 
He plies innocent young ladies with the pretty com- 
pliments and soft nothings in vogue when he was a 




h: 




^ftSa^ 



438 



ADVANTAGE OF MATRIMONY. 




spoony youth of twenty. The fashion of talking to 
young ladies has changed within thirty years, you 
know, and this aged boy's soft nothings seem more 
out of date than a two-year- old bonnet. When you 
see his old-fashioned young antics — his galvanic 
gallantry, so to speak, and hear the speeches he 
makes to girls in their teens, when he ought to be 
talking to them like a father — you involuntarily call 
him an old idiot, and long to remind him of that quaint 
rebuke of grand old John: ''Thou talkest like one 
upon whose head the shell is to this very day." That 
is how he seems. He Is old enough to have been 
almost full-fledged before you were born, and here he 
is trying to make believe that he is still in the days 
of his gosling-green, with the shell sticking on his 
head to this day ! It is a melancholy absurdity. 
One cannot be young unless one is young. Only 
once is it given to us to be untried and soft, and 
gushing and superlative, and when the time comes for 
it all to go, no sort of effort can hold back the fleet- 
ing days. 

"I wish that I had married thirty years ago," solil- 
oquized an old bachelor. "Oh! I wish a wife and 
half a score of children w^ould start up around me, 
and bring along wnth them all that affection which we 
should have had for each other by being early 
acquainted. But as it is, in my present state, there 
is not a person in the world I care a straw for ; and 
the world is pretty even with me, for I don't believe 
there is a person in it who cares a straw for me." 







YOUNG MKN AND MARRIAGE. 



439 





I mm we. 



A /ouNG man meets a pretty face in the ball-room, 
falls in love with it, courts it, marries it, goes to 
housekeeping with it, and boasts of having a home 
and a wife to grace it. The chances are, nine to ten, 
that he has neither. He has been ''taken in and done 
for ! " Her pretty face gets to be an old story, or 
becomes faded, or freckled, or fretted, and as the face 
was all he wanted, all he paid attention to, all he sat 
up v/ith, all he bargained for, all he swore to love, 
honor and protect, he gets sick of his trade, knows 
of a dozen faces he Hkes better, gives up staying at 
home evenings, consoles himself with cigars, oysters 
and politics, and looks upon his home as a ver 
indifferent boarding-house. ^^ 

Another young man becomes enamored of a ** for- 
tune." He waits upon it to parties, dances a polka 
with it, exchanges billets doux with it, pops the 
question to it, gets accepted by it, takes it to the par- 
son, weds it, calls it "wife," carries it home, sets up 
an establishment with it, introduces it to his friends, 
and says he, too, is married and has got a home. It 
is false. He is not married ; he has no home. And 
he soon finds it out. He is in the wrong box ; but it 
is too late to get out of it ; he might as well hope to 
get out of his coffin. His friends congratulate him, 
and he has to grin and bear it. 

If a young man would escape these sad conse- 







:j 



440 






YOUNG MEN AND MARRIAGE. 




quences, let him shun the rocks upon which so many 
have made shipwreck. Let him disregard, totally, 
all considerations of wealth, beauty, external accom- 
plishments, fashion, connections in society, and every 
other mere selfish and worldly end, and look into the 
mind and heart of the woman he thinks of marrying. 
If he cannot love her for herself alone — that is, for 
all that goes to make up her character as a woman — 
let him disregard every external inducement, and shun 
a marriage with her as the greatest evil to which he 
could be subjected. And if he have in him a spark 
of virtuous feeling-— if he have one unselfish and 
generous emotion— he will shun such a marriage for 
the woman's sake also, for it would be sacrificing her 
happiness as well as his own. 

From what is here set forth every young man can 
see how vitally important it is for him to make his 
choice in marriage from a right end. Wealth cannot 
bring happiness, and is ever in danger of taking to 
itself wings ; beauty cannot last long where there is 
grief at the heart ; and distinguished connections are 
a very poor substitute for the pure love of a true 
woman's heart. 

All that has been said refers to the ends which 
should govern in the choice of a wife. Directions as 
to the choice itself can only be of a general character, 
for the circumstances surrounding each one, and the 
particular circles into which he is thrown, will have 
specific influences, which will bias the judgment either 
one way or another. One good rule it will, however, 
be well to observe, and that is, to be on your guard 








441 

against those young ladies who seek evidently to 
attract your attention. It is unfeminine and proves 
that there is something wanting to make up the 
perfect woman. In retiring modesty you will be far 
more apt to find the virtues after which you are 

(sking. A brilliant belle may make a loving, faithful 
wife and mother; but the chances are somewhat 
against her, and a prudent young man will satisfy 
himself well by a close observation of her in private 
an^'^domestic life before he makes up his mind to 
offer her his hand. 

There are many, too many, fmely educated young 
ladies who can charm you with their brilliance of 
intellect, their attainments in science and literature, 
or their music, who know not the rudiments of how 
to make a home comfortable and inviting. Some will 
frankly confess it, with sorrow, others boast of this 
ignorance as something to be proud of How ma% 
such women marry and make an utter failure of life. 
They make a wreck of their husband's happiness, of 
the home he has doted on, of his fortune, and, alas, 
too often of his character, and his soul's interest. 
You see them abroad, and are delighted to have 
made their acquaintance, but you find their homes 
slipshod homes, sadly contrasting with the really 
cultivated manners and mind which so attracted you. 

When you see the avaricious and crafty taking com- 
panions to themselves without any inquiry but after 
farms and money, or the giddy and thoughtless 
uniting themselves for life to those whom they have 
only seen by the light of gas or oil ; when parents 




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make matches for children without inquiring after 
their consent ; when some marry for heirs to disap- 
point their brothers, and others throw themselves 
into the arms of those whom they do not love, 
because they found themselves rejected where they 
were more solicitous to please ; when some marry 
because their servants cheat them ; some because 
they squander their own money ; some because their 
houses are pestered with company ; some because 
they will live like other people ; and some because 
they are sick of themselves, we are not so much 
inclined to wonder that marriage is sometimes 
unhappy, as that it appears so little loaded with 
calamity, and cannot but conclude that society has 
something in itself eminently agreeable to human 
nature, when we find its pleasures so great that even 
the ill-choice of a companion can hardly overbalance 
them. Those, therefore, of the above description 
who should rail against matrimony should be informed 
that they are neither to wonder nor repine, that a 
contract begun on such principles has ended in dis- 
appointment. A young man and a dear friend once 
said, *'I am going to take her for better or for worse." 
The remark ran over me like a chill breath of winter. 
I shuddered at the thought. ''For better or for 
worse." All in doubt. Going to marry, yet not S2ire 
he was right. The lady he spoke of was a noble 
young woman, intellectual, cultivated, pious, accus- 
tomed to his sphere of life. They were going to 
marry in uncertainty. Both were of fine families ; 
both excellent young people. To the world it looked 



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YOUNG MEN AND MARRIAGE. 



like a desirable match. To them it was going to be 
"for better or for v/orse." They married. The 
woman stayed in his home one year and left it, 
declaring he was a good man and a faultless husband, 
but not after her heart. She stayed away one year 
and came back ; lived with him one year more and 
died. Sad tale. It proved for the worse, and all 
because they did not ^now each other; if they had 
they would not have married. 

Marriage is the seal of man's earthly weal or woe. 
No event is to be compared with this for its interest 
and its immeasurable results. Why are so many 
unhappy in this union, never indeed truly married? 
Because they rush into its sacred temple, either de- 
luded or unsanctified by God and good principles. 
They sin in haste, and are left to repent at leisure. 
Custom, convenience, proximity, passion, vicious 
novels, silly companions, intoxicate the brain ; and 
that step is taken without one serious thought, which 
death only can retrieve. 

Robert Southey says: "A man may be cheerful 
and contented in celibacy, but I do not think he can 
ever be happy; it is an unnatural state, and the best 
feelings of his nature are never called into action. 
The risks of marriage are for the greater part on the 
woman's side. Women have so little the power of 
choice that it is not perhaps fair to say that they are 
less likely to choose well than we are ; but I am per- 
suaded that they are more frequently deceived In the 
attachments they form, and their opinions concerning 
men are less accurate than men's opinion of their sex. 



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W. 11 







YOUNG MEN AND MARRIAGL. 

a lady were to reproach me for having said 
this, I should only reply that it was another mode of 
saying there are more good wives in the world than 
there are good husbands, which I verily believe. I 
know of nothing which a good and sensible man is 
so certain to find, if he looks for it, as a good wife." 

Who marries for love takes a wife; who marries for 
the sake of convenience takes a mistress ; who mar- 
ries for consideration takes a lady. You are loved 
by your wife, regarded by your mistress, tolerated 
by your lady. You have a wife for yourself, a mis- 
tress for your house and its friends, and a lady for the ^j „)^;. 
v.'orld. Your wife will agree with you, your mistress 
will accommodate you, and your lady will manage you. 
Your wife will take care of your household, your mis- 
tress of your house, your lady of appearance. If 
you are sick, your wife will nurse you, your mistress 
will visit you, and your lady will inquire after your 
health. You take a walk with your wife, a ride with 
your mistress, and join partners with your lady. 
Your wife will share your grief, your mistress your 
money, and your lady your debts. If you are dead, 
your wife will shed tears, your mistress lament, and 
your lady wear mourning. A year after death mar- 
ries again your wife, in six months your mistress, and . 
in six weeks or sooner, when mourning is over, your 
lady. I 

Men and women, before marriage, are as figures '^^^=:r;-^ 
and ciphers. The woman is the cipher and counts 
for nothing until she gets the figure of a husband 
beside her, when she becomes of importance herself // 








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YOUNG MEN AND xMARRIACiE. 



and adds tenfold to the sum of his. But this, it must 
be observed, occurs only when she gets and remains 
on the right side of him, for when she shifts from 
this position, he returns to his lesser estate, and she 
to her original insignificance. 
\' Marriage offers the most effective opportunities for 
spoiling the life. of another. Nobody can debase, 
harass and ruin a woman so fatally as her own hus- 
iDand, and nobody can do a tithe so much to chill a 
man's aspirations, to paralyze his energies, as his 
wife. A man is never irretrievably ruined in his 
prospects until he marries a bad woman. The Bible 
tells us that, as the climbing a sandy way is to the 
feet of the aged, so is a w:fe full of words to a quiet 
man. A cheerful wife is a rah. bow in the sky when 
her husband's mind is tossed on the storms of anxiet}^ 
and care. A good wife is the greatest earthly bless- 
ing. A man is what his wife make^ him. Make^ 
marriage a matter of moral judgment. Marry in 
your own religion. Marry into different blood and 
temperament from your own. Marry into a family 
which you have long known. 

Husbands and wives of different religious persua- 
sions do not generally live happily. When the 
spiritual influences are antagonistic, the conjugal 
union is not complete, for it lacks the unity essential 
to the fulfillment of serious obligations, and there is 
an entire absence of that sound and reciprocated 
confidence — that mutual faith, which, although th'^^ir 
roots be in the earth, have their branches in the sky 
of affection. The subject is painful, and however we 





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446 YOUNG LADIES AND MATRIMONY. 

may wound the susceptibilities of apparently fond 
lovers — we say apparently advisedly, for there can 
be no real love where there is ''no silver cord to bind 
it" — we unhesitatingly express the opinion that 
marriages between persons who do not tread in the 
same religious path are wholly unadvisable — nay, 
wrong — for they tend to invite a future teeming w'^h 
shadows, clouds, and darkness. 



^^ 






Many a young lady has had an advantageous offei 
of marriage. The man who made it is of exemplary 
character ; he is well off in this world's goods, is 
engaged in a profitable and reputable business, and 
there is no particular reason why she should not 
accept his proposal; but she does not love*him. In 

'' 'f'^ our judgment, that is reason enough. We do not 

believe In marriage without love. Respect is all very 

t^>] well, and that one should have any way; but it does 

not take the place of affection. It is said that in such 

;■ V matches love comes after marriape. We have no 

: L doubt .that it often does. But we think love should 

precede as well as follow matrimony. It is always 
liable to happen to one who has never loved. But 
suppose, subsequent to marriage, it is awakened for 
the first time in a wife, and the object happens to be 




-^— — — -^=*=^^ 

YOUNG LADIES AND MATRIMONV 

Other than the husband — what then? This is a 
contino-ency not pleasant to contemplate. No : it 
you do not love, do not marry. Singleness is bless- 
edness compared to marriage without affection. The 
connubial yoke sits easy on the shoulders of love; 
but it is most galling without this one and only 
sufficient support. 

We celebrate the wedding, and make merry over 
the honeymoon. The poet paints the beauties and 
blushes of the blooming bride ; and the bark of mat- 
rimony, with its freight of untested love, is launched 
on the uncertain ocean of experiment, amid kind 
wishes and rejoicings. But on that precarious sea 
are many storms, and even the calm has its perils ; 
and only when the bark has weathered these, and 
landed its cargo in the haven of domestic peace, can 
we pronounce the voyage prosperous, and con-, 
gratulate the advqnturer on his merited and enviable 
reward. 

The best women have an instinctive wish to marry 
a man superior to themselves in some way or other ; 
for their h'^nor is in their husbands, and their status 
in society is determined by his. A woman who, for 
a passing fancy, marries a man in any way her 
inferior, wrongs herself, her family, and her whole 
life; for the "grossness of his nature" will most 
probably drag her to his level. Now and then a 
woman of great force of character may lift her 
husband upward, but she accepts such a labor at the 
peril of her own higher life. Should she find it 
equally impossible to lift him to her level or sink to 



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448 



YOUNG LADIES AND MATRIMONY. 



his, what remains? Life-long regrets, bitter shame 
and self-reproach, or a forcible setting of herself free. 
But the latter, like all severe remedies, carries des- 
peration, instead of hope, with it. Never can she 
quite regain her maiden place ; an aura of a doubtful 
kind fetters and influences her in every effort or 
relation of her future life. 

A young woman is smitten with a pair of whiskers, 
Curled hair never before had such charms. She sets 
her cap for them ; they take. The delighted whiskers 
make an offer, proffering themselves both in exchange 
for one heart. Our dear miss is overcome with 
magnanimity, closes the bargain, carries home the 
prize, shows it to pa and ma, calls herself engaged to 
it, thinks there never was such a pair of whiskers 
before, and in a few weeks the miss and the pair oi 
whiskers are married. Married? i^^s, the world 
calls it so, and so we will. Wh^.t is the ssult? A 
short honeymoon, and then the discovery thiU they 
are as unlike as chalk and cheese, and not to be made 
one, though all the priests in Christendom pronounced 
them so. 

Young ladies are noi: to rely upon common report, 
no. the opinion of friends or fashionable acquaintan- 
ces, L ^t \ipon personal knowledge of the individual's 
life and character. How can another know what you 
want in a companion ? You alone know your own 
heart. If you do not know it you are not fit to be 
married. No one else can tell what fills you with 
pleasing and grateful emotions. You only know 
when the spring of true affection is touched by the 







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YOUNG LADIES AND MATRIMONY. 



449 



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hand of a congenial spirit. It is for you to /j7zo2C' who 
asks your hand, who has your heart, who links his 
Hfe with yours. If you know the man who can make 
true answer to your soul's true love, whose soul is all 
kindred with yours, whose life answers to your ideal 
of manly demeanor, you know who would make you 
a.^od husbandv.j^.,But if you only fancy that lie^ is j"^ 

fright, or guess, of believe, or hope, from a little social 
interchange of words and looks, you have but a 
poor foundation on which to build hopes of future 
happiness. Do not, as you value life and its com- 
forts, marry a man who is naturally cruel. If he will 
wantonly torture a poor dumb dog, a cat, or even a 
snake, fly from him as you would, from the cholera. 
We would sooner see our daughter dying of cholera, 
th^n married to a cruel hearted man. If his natures 

'^delights in torture, he will not spare his wife, or his 
helpless children. When we see a man practicing 
cruelty on any poor, helpless creature, or beating a 
fractious horse unmercifully, we write over against 
his name, *' devil," and shun him accordingly. 

Do not marry a fop. There is in such a character 
nothing of true dignity; nothing that commands 
respect, or insures even a decent standing in the com- 
munity. There Is a mark upon him, an affected ele- 
gance of manner, a studied particularity of dress, 
and usually a singular Inanity of mind, by which he is 
known In every circle in which he moves. His very 
attitude and gait tells the stranger who he is, though 
he only passes him silently on the street. To unite 
your destiny with such a man, we hardly need say, 









would be to impress the seal of disgrace upon your 
character, and the seal of wretchedness upon your 
doom. 

Look Avith disdain on what are called, significantly, 
our ''fast young men ;" those who frequent the saloon 
and bar-room, to drench themselves in ''fire-water;" 
who, filled with conceit, talk large, and use big-sound- 
ing oaths ; whose highest ambition is to drive a fast 
horse, to swear roundly, and wear dashy garments ; 
who affect to look with contempt on their elders and 
equals as they toil in some honest occupation, and 
who regard labor as a badge of disgrace. 

A habit of industry once formed is not likely to be 
ever lost. Place the individual in whatever circum- 
stances you will, and he will not be satisfied unless 
he can be active. Moreover, it will impart to his 
character an energy and efficiency, and we may add, 
dignity, w^hich can hardly fail to render him an object 
of respect. We should regard your prospects for 
life far better if you should marry a man of very 
limited property, or even no property at all, with an 
honest vocation and a habit of industry, than if we 
were to see you united to one of extensive wealth, 
who had never been taught to exercise his own 
powers, and had sunk into the sensual gratification of 
himself. 

Perhaps no folly holds so strong a place In a woman's 
mind as that she can reclaim the one she loves — If 
he is a little fast, after marriage, he will settle down 
into a just and sensible husband. History, too, often 
repeats the failure of such beliefs ; it is delusive, a 



m, 


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YOUNG LADIKS vVND MAI RIMON V. 

snare, and the young woman, after the marriage 
vows have been recorded, awakes to find the will of 
her husband stronger than her own, too selfish for 
any control, and her life begins its long agony of 
misery. We say to young maidens, be warned in 
time ; can you reclaim those who have not the power 
to reclaim themselves ? Can you throw away your 
pure life and womanly sympathies upon wretches, 
w|^,se moral principles cannot stand the slightest 
examination, and whose proffered love is but a tem- 
porary symptom of their changing heartlessness? 
Beware, beware! the deepest rascal has the finest 
clothes and the smoothest tongue. Yet in spite of 
all the wretchedness of drunkards' wives, young 
women are continually willing to marry men who are 
in the habit of indulging in the social glass ! Ladies 
.^f.^{x.^w refuse the marriage offers of young men b^ca^e^ 
/y» they are too poor, or of too humble a fafftfly, or too "^ 
plain in person or manners. But only now and then 
one has good sense enough to refuse to unite herself 
with a man w^ho will not pledge himself to total 
abstinence. A rich and fashionable young man has 
commonly no trouble to get a wife, even though he is 
hardly sober long enough to pronounce the marriage 
vow. But a teetotaler in coarse raiment mieht be 
snubbed as a vulgar fellow who has never seen society. 
Ladies, before you begin to scold at us for this impious 
thing, just look around and see if this is not true. A 
young woman who marries a man who is addicted to 
drinking liquors is attaching to herself but a dead 
weight that will drag her down with himself below 




/ 





462 



\OUNG LADIES AND MAIKIMONY. 



the level of the brutCo Young ladles, as life is 
precious to you, and since you value it highly, take 
no such chances. Rather than marry a man whom 
you know to drink, only now and then, for his friend's 
sake, wait a while longer ; there are many young men 
of noble character who are on the lookout for a good 
young lady, and your chances are not te be despaired 
of. To think of redeeming a young man from intem- 
perance is simply folly. To him your efforts to keep 
him from the cup would be like damming a river with 
a feather, or like stopping a hurricane with a tin 
whistle. 

During the period that intervenes betv/een forming 
an engagement and consummating the connection, let 
your deportment toward the individual to whom you 
have given your affections be marked by modesty and 
dignity, respect and kindness. Never, on the one 
hand, give him the least reason to question the sin- 
cerity of your regard, nor on the other, suffer your 
intercourse with him to be marked by an undignified 
familiarity. Do all that you can to render him happy, 
and while you will naturally grow in each other's confi- 
dence and affection, you may reasonably hope that 
you will be helpers of each other's joy, in the most 
endearing of all human relations. 





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" Oh happy state ! when souls each other drav/, 

When love is liberty, and nature law : 

All then is full, possessing and possess'd, 

No craving void left aching in the breast : 
^^vi/"~V' Even thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part 

^^'^^ ;'|^''',,"^^4-*Tid each wqrm wish springs mutual from the heart." v^^ 

Bo^is sucH a giant power that it seems to gather 
streiigth from obstructions, and at every difficulty 
rises to higher might. It is all dominant — all con- 
quering ; a grand leveler which can bring down to its 
own universal line of equalization the proudest 
heights, and remove the most stubborn impediments : 
" Like death, it levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's 
crook beside the sceptre." There is no hope of 
resisting it, for it outwatches^ the most vigilai^t "^ 
submerges everything, acquiring strength as it pro 
ceeds ; ever growing, nay, growing out of itself 
Love is the light, the maitsty of life, that principle to 
which, after all our struggling, and writhing, and 
twisting, all things must be resolved. Take it away, 
and what becomes of the world ! It is a barren wil- 
derness ! A world of monuments, each standing 
upright and crumbling ; an army of gray stones, with- 
out a chaplet, without a leaf to take off, with its 
glimpse of green, their flat insipidity and offensive 
uniformity upon a shrubless plain. Things base and 
foul, creeping and obscure, withered, bloodless, and 
brainless, could alone spring from such a marble 
hearted soil. 







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LOVE. 



454 



Love's darts are silver ; when they turn to fire in 
the noble heart, they impart a portion of that heavenly 
flame which is their element. Love is of such a refin- 
ing, elevating character, that it expels all that is mean 
and base ; bids us think great thoughts, do great 
deeds, and changes our common clay into fine gold. 
It illuminates our path, dark and mysterious as it may 
be, with torchlights lit from the one great light. Oh ! 
poor, weak, and inexpressive are words when sought 
to strew, as with stars, the path and track of the 
expression of love's greatness and power! Dull, 
pitiful, and cold ; a cheating, horny gleam, as stones 
strung by the side of precious gems, and the 
far-flashing of the sparkling ruby with his heart of 
fire ! The blue eyes of turquoises, or the liquid light 
of the sapphire, should alone be tasked to spell along, 
and character our thoughts of love. 

The loves that make memory happy and home 
beautiful, are those which form the sunlight of our 
earliest consciousness, beaming gratefully along the 
path of maturity, and their radiance lingering till the 
shadow of death darkens them all together. 

But there is another love — that which blends 
young hearts in blissful unity, and, for the time, so 
ignores past ties and affections, as to make willing 
separation of the son from his father's house, and the 
daughter from all the sv\^eet endearments of her 
childhood's home, to go out together, and rear for 
themselves an altar, around which shall cluster all the 
cares and delights, the anxieties and sympathies, of 
the family relationship; this love, if pure, unselfish, 



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and discreet, constitutes the chief usefulness and 
happiness of human life. Without it, there would be 
no organized households, and, consequently, none of 
that earnest endeavor for competence and respecta- 
bility, which is the main-spring to human effort; 
none of those sweet, softening, restraining and 
elevating influences of domestic life, which can alone 
fill the earth with the glory of the Lord and make 
glad the rity of Zion. This love is indeed heaven 
upon earth ; but above would not be heaven without 
it; where there is not love, there is fear; but, 'Move 
casteth out fear." And yet we naturally do offend 
what we most love. 

Love is the sun of life ; most beautiful in morning 
and evening, but warmest and steadiest at noon. It 
is the sun of the soul. Life without love Is worse 
than death ; a world without a sun. The love wbi 
s not lead to labor will soon die out, artd:|] 
thankfulness which does not embody Itself lii sacrifices 
is already changing to gratitude. Love Is not ripened 
in one day, nor in many, nor even in a human lifetime. 
It is the oneness of soul with soul In appreciation and 
perfect trust. To be blessed it must rest in that faith 
in the Divine which underlies every other emotion. 
To be true, it must be eternal as God himself. Zeno 
being told that it was humiliating to a philosopher to 
be in love, remarked: ''If that be true, the fair sex 
are much to be pitied, for they would receive the 
attention only of fools." Some love a girl for beauty, 
some for virtue, and others for understanding. Goethe 
3ays: "We love a girl for very different things than 




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understanding. We love her for her beauty, her 
youth, her mirth, her confidino-ness, her character, 
with its fauks, caprices, and God knows what other 
inexpressible charms ; but we do not love her under- 
standing-. Her mind we esteem (if it is brilliant), and 
it may greatly elevate her in our opinion ; nay, more, 
it may enchain us when we already love. But her 
understanding is not that which awakens and inflames 
our passions." 

Love is blind, and lovers cannot see 

The pretty follies that themselves commit. 

Remember that love is dependent upon forms ; 
courtesy of etiquette guards and protects courtesy of 
heart. How many hearts have been lost irrecover- 
ably, and how many averted eyes and cold looks have 
been gained from what seemed, perhaps, but a trifling 
negligence of forms. Men and women should not 
be judged by the same rules. There are many radi- 
cal differences in their affectional natures. Man is 
the creature of interest and ambition. His nature 
leads him forth into the struggle and bustle of the 
world. Love is but the embellishment of his early 
life, or a song piped in the intervals of the acts. He 
seeks for fame, for fortune, for space in the world's 
thoughts, and dominion over his fellow-men. But a 
woman's whole life is a history of the affections. 
The heart is her world ; it is there her ambition 
strives for empire ; it is there her ambition seeks foi^ 
hidden treasures. She sends forth her sympathies 
on adventure ; she embarks her whole soul in the 











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traffic of affection ; and If shipwrecked her case is 
hopeless, for it is banlrruptcy of the heart. 

Man's love is of man's life a thing, a part ; 
'Tis woman's whole existence. 

For every woman it is with the food of the heart 
as with that of the body ; it is possible to exist on a 
/ very\small quantity, but that small quantity is an abso- 
lute necessity. -Woman loves or abhors ; man. adr 
mires or despises. "'Woman without love is a fruit 
without flovv^er. In love, the virtuous woman says 710/ 
the passionate says yes / the capricious says yes and 
710 / the coquette neither jj/^i- nor 710. A coquette is a 
rose from whom every lover plucks a leaf; the thorn 
remains for the future husband. She may be com- 
pared to tinder which catches sparks, but does not 
always succeed in lighting a 7i^atch. Love, while it 
frequently corrupts pure hearts, often purifies corrupt 
hearts. How well he knew fhe human heart who 
said: "We wish to constitute all the happiness, or 
if that cannot be, the misery of the one we love." 

Woman's love is stronger than death ; it rises 
superior to adversity, and towers in sublime beauty 
above the niggardly selfishness of the world. Mis- 
fortune cannot suppress it; enmity cannot alienate it; 
temptation cannot enslave it. It is the guardian 
angel of the nursery and the sick bed ; it gives an 
affectionate concord to the partnership of life and 
interest, circumstances cannot modify it ; it ever 
remains the same to sweeten existence, to purify the 
cup of life on the rugged pathway to the grave, and 
melt to moral pliability the brittle nature of man. It 






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is the ministering- spirit of home, hovering in soothing 
caresses over the cradle, and the death-bea of the 
household, and filling up the urn of all its sacred 
memories. 

How many bright eyes grow dim — how many soft 
cheeks grow pale — how many lovely forms fade 
away into the tomb, and none can tell the cause that 
blighted their loveliness ! As the dove will clasp Its 
wings to its side, and cover and conceal the arrow 
that is preying on Its vitals, so It Is the nature of 
woman to hide from the world the pangs of wounded 
affection. The love of a delicate female is always 
shy and silent. Even when fortunate she scarcely 
breathes It to herself; but when otherwise, she 
buries It in the recesses of her bosom, and there lets 
it brood and cower among the ruins of her peace. 
With her the desire of the heart has failed. The 
great charm of existence Is at an end. She neglects 
all the cheerful exercises which gladden the spirits, 
quicken the pulses, and send the tide of life in 
healthful currents through the veins. Her rest Is 
broken — the sweet refreshment of sleep Is poisoned 
by melancholy dreams — ''dry sorrow drinks her 
blood," until her feeble frame sinks under the slight- 
est external Injury. Look for her after a little while, 
and you will find friendship weeping over her 
untimely grave, and wondering that one who but 
lately glowed with all the radiance of health and 
beauty, should be so speedily brought down to ''dark- 
ness and the worm." You will be told of some 
wintry chill, some casual indisposition that laid her 



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low ; but no one knows of the mental malady that 
previously sapped her strength and made her so easy 
a prey to the spoiler. 

The affection that links together man and wife is a 
far holier and more enduring passion than the enthu- 
siasm, of young love. It may want its gorgeousness 
— it may want its imaginative character, but it is far 
richer, and holier, and more trusting in its attributes. 
T^^rnot to us of the absence of love in wedlock. 
No ! it burns with a steady and brilliant flame, 
shedding a benign influence upon existence, a million 
times more precious and delightful than the cold 
dreams of philosophy. Domestic love ! Who can 
measure its height or its depth ? Who can estimate 
its preserving and purifying power? It sends an 
ever swelling stream of life through a household, it 
ids hearts into one ''bundle of life;" it shleldls 
S'hem from temptation, it takes the sting fro.nfais' 
pointments and sorrow, it breathes music into the 
voice, into the footsteps, it gives worth and beauty to 
the commonest office, it surrounds home with an 
atmosphere of moral health, it gives power to eflbrt 
and wings to progress, it is omnipotent. Love, amid 
the other graces in this world, is like a cathedral 
tower, w^hich begins on the earth, and, at first, is 
surrounded by the other parts of the structure ; but, 
at length, rising above buttressed wall, and arch, and 
parapet, and pinnacle, it shoots spire-like many a foot 
right into the air, so high that the huge cross on its 
summit glows like a spark in the morning light and 
shines like a star in the evening sky, when the rest 
of the pile is envelooed in. Hnrkaess. 



-"V 




4./ 



LOVE. 



LS 



>^ 




He who loves a lady's complexion, form and feat- 
ures, loves not her true self, but her soul's old clothes. 
The love that has nothing- but beauty to sustain it, 
soon withers and dies. The love that is fed with 
presents always requires feeding. Love and love 
only, is the loan for love. Love is of the nature of a 
burning glass, which, kept still in one place, lights 
fire ; changed often, it does nothing. The purest joy 
we can experience in one we love, is to see that per- 
son a source of happiness to others. When you are 
with the person loved, you have no sense of being 
bored. This humble and trivial circumstance is the 
great test — the only sure and abiding test of love. 
With the persons you do not love you are never 
supremely at your ease. You have some of the sen- 
sation of walking upon stilts. In conversation with 
them, however much you admire them and are inter- 
ested in them, the horrid idea will cross your mind of 
"What shall I say next?" One has well said, **In 
true love the burden of conversation is borne by both 
the lovers, and the one of them who, with knightly 
intent, would bear it alone, would only thus cheat the 
other of a part of his best fortune." When two souls 
come together, each seeking to magnify the other, 
each in a subordinate sense worshiping the other, 
each helps the other ; the two flying together so that 
each wing-beat of the one helps each wing-beat of the 
other — when two souls come together thus, they are 
overs. They who unitedly move themselves away 
from grossness and from earth, toward the throne 
crystalline and the pavement golden, are, indeed, true 
lovers. 






46i 




if\ It is pleasant to contemplate the associations clus- 

^.A^(^'^<fr-u^^::3.round the wedding morn. It is the happiest 
bpur of human iife, and breaks upon the youns: heart 
■like^a gentle sprih^ upon the flowers of earth. It is 
the H|)ur of bounding, joyous expectancy, when the 
ardent spirit, arming itself with bold hope, looks with 
undaunted mien upon the dark and terrible future. It 
is the hour when thought borrows the livery of good- 
ness, and humanity, looking from its tenement, across 
the broad common of life, shakes off its heavy load 
of sordidness, and gladly swings to its shoulders the 
light burden of love and kindness. It is the heart's 
\ A\ ^^ "^'""^^Tiour, full of blissful contemplation, rich promises, and, 
<^ ^^ the soul's happy revels. We cordially echo tne 
sentiment, Happy morn, garmented with the human 
virtues, it shows life to the eye, lovely, as if 

" Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars." 



''Marriage is a lottery," the saying goes, and there 
are plenty who believe it, and who act accordingly, 
and for such it is well if they do no worse than draw 
a blank, if they do not draw a life-long misery and 
pain. But marriage is not necessarily a lottery, either 
in the initial choice or in the months and years after 
the marriage day. One can shut his eyes and draw, 
or one can open them and choose. One can choose 
with the outward eye alone, or with the eye of intel- 












MATRIMONY. 

lect and conscience. Says Jeremy Taylor, speaking 
of marriages where physical beauty is the only bond : 
*'It is an ill band of affections to tie two hearts 
together with a little thread of red and white." But 
let us choose ever so wisely, ever so deeply, and not 
we ourselves nor the minister can marry us completely 
on the wedding day. *'A happy wedlock is a long 
falling in love." Marriage is very gradual, a fraction 
of us at a time. And the real ministers that marry 
people are the slow years, the joys and sorrows which 
they bring, our children on earth, and the angels they 
are transfigured into in heaven, the toils and burdens 
borne in company. These are the ministers that 
really marry us, and compared with these, the minis- 
ters who go through a form of words some day, when 
heaven and earth seem to draw near and kiss each 
other, are of small account. And the real marriage 
service isn't anything printed or said ; it is the true 
heart service which each yields to the other, year in 
and year out, when the bridal wreath has long since 
faded, and even the marriage ring is getting sadly 
worn. Let this service be performed, and even if the 
marriage was a lottery to begin with, this would go 
far to redeem it and make it a marriage of coequal 
hearts and minds. 

When the honeymoon passes away, setting behind 
dull mountains, or dipping silently into the stormy sea 
of life, the trying hour of married life has come. 
Between the parties there are no more illusions. The 
feverish desire for possession has gone, and all excit- 
ment receded. Then begins, or should, the business 



? AM 





^ 



MATRIMONY. 



463 






i^ 






of adaptation. If they find that they do not love 
one another as they thoui^ht they did, they should 
double their assiduous attentions to one another, and 
be jealous of everything which tends in the slightest 
way to separate them. Life is too precious to be 
thrown away in secret regrets or open differences. 
And let us say to every one to whom the romance of 
life has fled, and who are discontented in the slightest 
degree with their conditions and relations, begin this 
reconciliation at once. Renew the attentions of earlier 
days. Draw your hearts closer together. Talk the 
thing all over. Acknowledge your faults to one 
another, and determine that henceforth you will be 
all in all to each other ; and my word for it, you 
shall find in your relation the sweetest joy earth has 
for you. There is no other way for you to do. If 
you are happy at home, you must be happy abroad^!^ 
the man or woman who has settled dowj%"^upon the 
conviction that he or she is attached for life to an 
uncongenial yoke-fellow, and that there is no way of 
escape, has lost life ; there is no effort too costly to 
make which can restore to its setting upon the bosom 
the missing pearl. 

It is a o:reat thinof for two frail natures to live as one 
for life long. Two harps are not easily kept always 
in tune, and what shall we expect of two harps each 
of a thousand strings ? What human will or wisdom 
cannot do, God can do, and his Providence is uniting 
ever more intimately, those who devoutly try to do 
the work of life and enjoy its goods together. For 
them there is in store a respect and affection; a 






c_^ 



r 

c 



i-1 

I 



464 



MATRIMONY. 



peace and power all unknown in the he3^-day of young 
romance. Experience intertwines their remembrances 
and hopes in stronger cords, and as they stand at 
the loom of time, one with the strong warp, the other 
with the finer woof, the hand of Providence weaves 
for them a tissue of unfading beauty and imperishable 
worth. 

The marriage institution is the bond of social 
order, and, if treated with due respect, care, and dis- 
cretion, greatly enchances individual happiness, and 
consequently general good. The Spartan law pun- 
ished those who did not marry ; those who married 
too late ; and those who married improperly, A 
large portion of the evils that have defaced the origi- 
nal organization of the patriarchal age have resulted 
from the increase of celibacy, often caused by the 
imaginary refinements of the upper ten thousand. 
There are other causes that have stripped the mar- 
riage institution of its ancient simplicity, and rendered 
its pure stream turbid in places. Among the Patri- 
archs, before there w^ere any rakes, parents never 
interfered, the young pair made the match, and the 
girl always married the man of her choice, an indis- 
pensable pre-requisite to a happy union. 

How to secure happiness to married life is the 
question. Some one would say, ''You might as well 
ask to find the philosopher's stone, or the elixir of 
prepetual youth, or the Utopia of perfect society !'* 
The prime difficulty in the case is the entire thought- 
lessness, the want of consideration, common sense 
and practical wisdom. Not only young persons con- 



i: 



r^- 



^: 



<fy^^^^^ 



MATRIMONY. 465 

templating marriage — which includes all between the 
age of eighteen and thirty-five — but also many mar- 
ried people have a vague notion that happiness comes 
of itself. They wait for certain dreams of Elysium 
to be fulfilled by beatific realities. Happiness does 
not come of its own accord nor by accident It is 
not a gift, but an attainment. Circumstances may 
favor, but cannot create it. But advice to those who 
stand, or mean to stand by the hymeneal altar, falls 
upon dull ears, and every coupled pair flatter them- 
selves that their experience will be better and more 
excellent than that of any who have gone before 
them. They look with amazement at the tameness, ^-V\ 

and coldness, and diversities, and estrangements, and 
complainings, and dissatisfactions, which spoil the 
comfort of so many homes, as at things which cannot, 
by any possibility fall to their happier lot. But like 
causes produce like effects, and to avoid the misfor- 
tunes of others, we must avoid their mistakes. 

Love on both .des, and all things equal in outward 
circumstances, re not all the requisites of domestic 
felicity. Human nature is frail and multiform in its 
passions. The honeymoon gets a dash of vinegar 
now and then, when least expected. Young people 
seldom court in their every-day clothes, but they must 
put them on after marriage. As in other bargains, 
but few expose defects. They are apt to marry 
faultless — love is blind — but faults are there and will 
come out. ihe fastidious attentions of wooing are 
like spring flowers, they make pretty nosegays, but 
poor greens. Miss Darling becomes the plain house 






H 

^"1 



t^ 




I Hi' 




\ 



j]:^ik 



W 







wife, and Mr. Allattention the Informal husband, not 
from a want of esteem, but from the constitution and 
nature of man. If all these changes, and more thau 
would answer in wooing time, are anticipated, as they 
are by some analyzing minds, their happiness will not 
be embittered by them when they come. Bear and 
forbear, must be the motto put in practice. 

We exhort you, who are a husband, to love your 
wife, even as you love yourself. Give honor to her 
as the more delicate vessel ; respect the delicacy of 
her frame and the delicacy of her mind. Continue 
through life the same attention, the same manly ten- 
derness which in youth gained her affections. Reflect 
that, though her bodily charms are decayed as she is 
advanced in age, yet that her mental charms are 
increased, and that, though novelty is worn off, yet 
that habit and a thousand acts of kindness have 
strengthened your mutual friendship. Devote your- 
self to her, and, after the hours of business, let the 
pleasures which you most highly prize be found in 
her society. 

We exhort you, who are a wife, to be gentle and 
condescending to your husband. Let the Influence 
which you possess over him arise from the mildness 
of your manners and the discretion of your conduct. 
Whilst you are careful to adorn your person with neat 
and clean apparel — for no woman can long preserve 
affection if she Is negligent In this point — be still 
more attentive in ornamenting your mind with meek- 
ness and peace, with cheerfulness and good humor. 
Lighten the cares and chase away the vexations to 



i 



mm:\ 



/ .' // 



/ 






/i 



1 
i 




<.j. ^:'rh^ 




MATRIMONY. 



467 






^\\ i 



S|.f 



(f: 




which men, in their commerce with the world, are 
unavoidably exposed, by rendering his house pleasant 
to your husband. Keep at home, let your employ- 
ments be domestic and your pleasures domestic. 

To both husband and wife we say: ''Preserve a 
strict guard over your tongues, that you never utter 
anything which is rude, contemptuous, or severe ; 
and over your tempers, that you never appear sullen 
and morose. Endeavor to be perfect yourselves, but 
expect not too much from each other. If any offense 
arise, forgive it ; and think not that a human being 
can be exempt from faults." 

In conclusion we would say, that marriage is one 
of God's first blessings. Although it involves many 
weighty responsibilities, it is a gem in the crown of 
life. Man and wife are equally concerned to avoid 
all offenses of each other in the beginning of their 
conversation : every little thing can blast an infant 
blossom, and the breath of the south canshake the 
little rings of the vine, when first they begin to curl 
like the locks of a new-weaned boy ; but when, by 
age and consolidation, they stiffen into the hardness 
of a stem, and have, by the warm embraces of the sun 
and the kisses of heaven, brought forth their clus- 
ters, they can endure the storms of the north and the 
loud noises of a tempest, and yet never be broken: 
so are the early unions of an unfixed marriage ; watch- 
ful and observant, jealous and busy, inquisitive and 
careful, and apt to take alarm at every unkind word. 
After the hearts of the man and the wife are endeared 
and hardened by a mutual confidence and experience, 




468 



THE CONJUGAL RELATION. 



I 



longer than artifice and pretence can last, there are 
a great many remembrances, and some things present 
that dash all little unkindnesses in pieces. 



i I 



^.|..|.^.^. 



.eialMii^^ 



i'm 






4j 



Have you taken upon yourselves the conjugal 
relation? Your high and solemn duty is to make 
each other as happy as it is i7i your power. The 
husband should have, as his great object and rule of 
conduct, the happiness of the wife. Of that hap- 
piness, the confidence in his affection is the chief 
element; and the proofs of this affection on his part, 
therefore, constitute his chief duty — an affection that 
is not lavish of caresses only, as if these were the 
only demonstrations of love, but of that respect which 
distinguishes love, as a principle, from that brief pas- 
sion which assumes, and only assumes, the name — a 
respect which consults the judgment, as well as the 
wishes, of the object beloved — which considers her 
who is worthy of being taken to the heart as worthy 
of being admitted to all the counsels of the heart. 
He must often forget her, or be useless to the world ; 
she is most useful to the world by remembering him. 
From the tumultuous scenes which agitate many of 
his hours, he returns to the calm scene, where peace 
awaits him, and happiness is sure to await him; 
because she is there waiting, whose smile is peace, 





-Ms^ 






THE CONJUGAL RELATION. 469 

and whose very presence is more than happiness to 
his heart. 

In your joy at the consummation of your wishes, 
do not forget that your happiness both here and 
hereafter depends — O how much ! — upon each other's 
influence. An unkind word or look, or an uninten- 
tional neglect, sometimes leads to thoughts which 
ripen into the ruin of body and soul. A spirit of 
forbearance, patience, and kindness, and a determin- 
ation to keep the chain of love bright, are likely to 
develop corresponding qualities, and to make the 
rough places of life smooth and pleasant. Have you 
ever reflected seriously that it is in the power of 
either of you to make the other utterly miserable ? 
And when the storms and trials of life come, for come 
they will, how much either of you can do to calm, to 
elevate, to purify, the troubled spirit of the other,^and 
substitute sunshine for the storm ? 1*^ ' 

We cannot look upon marriage in the Hght in 
which many seem to regard it — merely as a con- 
venient arrangement in society. To persons of 
benevolence, intelligence, and refinement, it must be 
something more — the source of the greatest possible 
happiness or of the most abject misery — no half-way 
felicity. You have not had the folly to discard 
common sense. You have endeavored to study 
charitably and carefully the peculiarities of each other's 
habits, dispositions, and principles, and to anticipate 
somewhat the inconveniencies to which they may lead. 
And as you are determined to outdo each other in 
making personal sacrifices, and to live by the spirit of 







^. h 



A 






./^ 





470 



THE CONJUGAL RELATION. 



the Savior, you have laid a foundation for happiness, 
which it is not likely will be shaken by the joys or 
sorrows, the prosperity or adversity, the riches or 
poverty, or by the frowns or flattery, of the world. 
If there is a place on earth to which vice has no 
entrance — where the gloomy passions have no 
empire — where pleasure and innocence live con- 
stantly together — where cares and labors are delight- 
ful — where every pain is forgotten in reciprocal 
tenderness — where there is an equal enjoyment of 
the past, the present, and the future — it is the house 
of a wedded pair, but of a pair who, in wedlock, are 
lovers still. 

The married life, though entered never so well, and 
with all proper preparation, must be lived well or it 
will not be useful or happy. Married life will not 
go itself, or if it does it will not keep the track. It 
will turn off at every switch and fly off at every turn 
or impediment. It needs a couple of good conduc- 
tors who understand the engineering of Hfe. Good 
watch must be kept for breakers ahead. The fires 
must be kept up by a constant addition of the fuel of 
affection. The boilers must be kept full and the 
machinery in order, and all hands at their posts, else 
there will be a smashing up, or life will go hobbling 
or jolting along, wearing and tearing, breaking and 
bruising, leaving some heads and hearts to get well 
the best way they can. It requires skill, prudence, 
and judgment to lead this life well, and these must be 
tempered with forbearance, charity and integrity. 

The young are apt to han^^ too many garlands about 



ur 






w ^ II 






H^\ 




THE CONJUGAL REFLATION. 



471 




^ 




the married life. This is so as this Hfe is generally 
lived. But if it is wisely entered and truthfully lived, 
it is more beautiful and happy than any have imag- 
ined. It is the true life which God has designed for his 
children, replete with joy, delightful, improving, and 
satisfactory in the highest possible earthly degree. It 
is,.the hallowed home of virtue, peace, and bliss. It 
i^tdre- ante -chamber of heaven, the visiting-place of 
angels, the communing ground of kindred spirits. Let 
all young women who would reap such joys and be 
thus blessed and happy, learn to live the true life and 
be prepared to weave for their brows the true wife's 
perennial crown of goodness. 

The experience of an excellent lady may be of 
benefit to some reader. She had a very worthy hus- 
band, whom she did not love as she should. The 



,.,f5^PDuble was she had not entirely surrendered "herself 

/itV^^. 1 • . ..-1 r. 1111 . -11 rEyf. _ ^_ ^ 



\o him until after she had been very ill. -'Slie says : 
*'I have been very ill, almost dead. Such care and 
devotion as I have had ! What a rock my heart 
must have been, not to be broken before. Day and 
night my husband has watched me himself, sleepless 
and tireless ; nobody else could do so much. N(3w I 
know what love means. My husband shall never say 
again, 'Love me more.' He shall have all there is to 
give, and I think my heart is larger than it was a 
year ago. What a thrill of joy it gives me when 
I catch his eye, or hear his voice or step. My 
heart runs to meet him and my eyes overflow with 
tears of happiness. How mean and contemptible it 
seems to me to desire the attention of other men. or 







'^ 



THE CONJUGAL RELATION. 

to wish to go anywhere he cannot accompany me. I 
despise myself for ever thinking such pleasures 
desirable. I delight to say, 'My husband, my good, 
noble, generous, forgiving husband, keep me close to 
you. That is all the happiness I ask.' I know now 
that all the trouble was the result of not having a 
/ \ full, complete giving up of myself, when I promised 

' to be a wife — a consecration of true love." 

The warmest-hearted and most unselfish women 

soon learn to accept quiet trust and the loyalty of a 

w^-i.^' loving life as the calmest and happiest condition of 

f J marriage ; and the men who are sensible enough to 

rely on the good sense of such wives sail round the 

f| gushing adorers both for true affection and comfort- 

■ able tranquillity. 

Just let a young wife remember that her husband 

necessarily is under a certain amount of bondage all 

day; that his interests compel him to look pleasant 

,i under all circumstances, to offend none, to say no 

'] hasty word, and she will see that when he reaches 

his own fireside he wants, most of all, to have this 

,rCp\ strain removed, to be at ease ; but this he cannot be 

^^>-~^ if he is continually afraid of wounding his wife's sen- 

M sibilities by forgetting some outward and visible token 

of his affection for her. Besides, she pays him but a 

' poor compliment in refusing to believe what he does 

not continually assert, and by fretting for what is 

unreasonable to desire she deeply wrongs herself, for 

" A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, 
\ Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty." 

Make a home ; beautify and adorn it ; cultivate all 



C\^ ■?' 







THE CONJUGAL RELATION. 473 

heavenly' charms within it ; sing- sweet songs of love 
in it ; bear your portion of toil, and pain, and sorrow 
in it; con daily lessons of strength and patience 
there ; shine like a star on the face of the darkest 
night over it, and tenderly rear the children it shall 
give you in it. High on a pinnacle, above all earthly 
grandeur, all gaudy glitter, all fancied ambitions, set 
the home interests. Feed the mind in it; feed the 
soul in it ; strengthen the love, and charity, and truth, 
and all holy and good things within it ! 

When young persons marry, even with the fairest 
prospects, they should never forget that infirmity is 
inseparably bound up with their very nature, and that, 
in bearing one another's burdens, they fulfill one of 
the highest duties of the union. Love in marriage 
cannot live nor subsist unless it be mutual ; and where 
love cannot be, there can be left of wedlock nothing 
but the empty husk of an outside matrimony, as 
undelightful and unpleasing to God as any other kind 
of hypocrisy. 

We have all seen the trees die in summer time. 
But the tree with its whispering leaves and swinging 
limbs, its greenness, its umbrage, where the shadows * 

lie hidden all the day, does not die. First a dimness /,i 

creeps over its brightness ; next a leaf sickens here 
and there, and pales ; then a whole bough feels the 
palsying touch of coming death, and finally the feeble 
signs of sickly life, visible here and there, all disap- 
pear, and the dead trunk holds out its stripped, stark 
limbs, a melancholy ruin. Just so does wedded love ^^ 

sometimes die. Wedded love, girdled by the bless- ^ ^ 



' H 



>fe 



K.* 




HUSBAND AND WIFE. 




of friends, hallowed by the sanction of God, rosy 
present joys, and radiant with future hopes, it 
not all at once. A hasty word casts a shadow 
upon it, and the shadow darkens with the sharp reply. 
A little thoughtlessness misconstrued, a little unin- 
tentional neg-lect deemed real, a little word misinter- 
preted, through such small avenues the devil of 
discord gains admittance to the heart, and then 
welcomes all his infernal progeny. The presence of 
something malicious is felt, but not acknowledged ; 
love becomes reticent, confidence is chilled, and 
noiselessly but surely the work of separation goes on, 
until the two are left as isolated as the pyramids — 
nothing left of the union but the legal form — the 
dead trunk of the tree, whose branches once tossed 
in the bright sunlight, and whose sheltering leaves 
trembled with the music of singing birds now affords 
no shade for the traveler. 

There are two classes of disappointed lovers — 
those who are disappointed before marriage, and the 
more unhappy ones who are disappointed after it. 
To be deprived of a person we love is a happiness 
in comparison of living with one we hate. 




•i*:, '* 





'^mm- 



V'^A.^ , „ 



litsfc»i|4 atii »%. 



Some writer asserts that, ''a French woman will 

love her husband if he is either witty or chivalrous ; 

% German woman, if he is constant and faithful ; a 





"1 









HUSBAND AND WIFE 



Dutch woman if he does not disturb her ease and 
comfort too much ; a Spanish woman, if he wreaks 
vengeance on those who incur his displeasure ; an 
Italian woman, if he is dreamy and poetical ; a Danish 
woman, if he thinks that her native country is the 
brightest and happiest on earth ; a Russian woman if 
hf ; despises all westeners as miserable barbarians ; 
a'ti English woman if he succeeds in ingratiating 
himself with the court and the aristocracy ; an Amer- 
ican woman, if — he has plenty of money." 

In the true wife the husband finds not affection 
only, but companionship — a companionship with 
which no other can compare. The family relation 
gives retirement with solitude, and society without 
the rough intrusion of the world. It plants in the 
husband's dwelling a friend who can bear his silence 
;? without weariness ; who can listen to the details o( 
his interests with sympathy ; who can appreciate his 
repetition of events only important as they are em- 
balmed in the heart. Common friends are linked to 
us by a slender thread. We must retain them by 
ministering in some way to their interest or their 
enjoyment. What a luxury it is for a man to feel 
that in his home there is a true and affectionate being, 
in whose presence he may throw off restraint without 
danger to his dignity ; he may confide without fear of 
treachery ; and be sick or unfortunate without being 
abandoned. If, in the outer world, he grows weary 
of human selfishness, his heart can safely trust in one 
whose indulgences overlook his defects. 

The treasure of a wife's affection, like the grace of 






476 



HUSBAND AND WIFE. 




God, is given, not bought. Gold is power. It can 
sweep down forests, raise cities, build roads and deck 
houses. It can collect troops of flatterers, and inspire 
awe and fear. But alas ! wealth can never purchase 
love. Bonaparte essayed the subjugation of Europe, 
under the influence of a genius almost inspired; an 
ambition insatiable, and backed by millions of armed 
men. He almost succeeded in swaying his sceptre 
from the Straits of Dover to the Mediterranean ; from 
the Bay of Biscay to the sea of Azoff. On many a 
bloody field his banner floated triumphantly. But 
the greatest conquest was the unbought heart of 
Josephine ; his sweetest and most priceless treasure 
her outraged but unchanged love. If any man has 
failed to estimate the affection of a true-hearted wife, 
he will be likely to mark the value in his loss when 
the heart that loved him is stilled by death. 

Is man the child of sorrow, and do afflictior^ and 
distresses pour their bitterness into his cup ? How are 
his trials alleviated, his sighs suppressed, his corrod- 
ing thoughts dissipated, his anxieties and pains 
relieved, his gloom and depression chased away by 
her cheerfulness and love. Is he overwhelmed by 
disappointment, and mortified by reproaches ? There 
is one who can hide her eyes even from his faults, 
and who, like her Father who is in heaven, can for- 
give and love ''without upbraiding." And when he 
is sickened by the subtleties and deception of the 
world ; when the acrimony of men has made him 
acrimonious ; when he becomes dissatisfied with him- 
self, and all around him, her pleasant smile, her 




c:c 




r 



^n;^A,^> 



- \ 



HUSBAND AND WIFE. 477 

cindissembled tenderness, her artless simplicity, ''re- 
store him to himself, and spread serenity and sweet- 
ness over his mind." 

Nothing is more annoying than that display of 
affection which some husbands and wives show to 
each other in society. That familiarity of touch, 
those half-concealed caresses, those absurd names, 
that prodigality of endearing epithets, that devoted,;.-., 
attention which they flaunt in the face of the public 
as a kind of challenge to the world at large, to. come 
and admire their happiness, is always noticed and 
laughed at. Yet to some women this parade of love 
is the very essence of married happiness, and part of 
their dearest privileges. They believe themselves 
admired and envied, when they are ridiculed and 
scoffed at ; and they think their husbands are models 
for other men to copy, when they are taken as 
examples for all to avoid. Men who have any real 
manliness, however, do not give in to this kind of 
thing; though there are some as effeminate and 
gushing as women themselves, who like this sloppy 
effusiveness of love, and carry it on to quite old age, 
fondling the ancient grandmother with gray hairs as 
lavishly as they fondled the youthful bride, and seeing 
no want of harmony in calling a withered old dame 
of sixty and upwards by the pet names by which they 
had called her when she was a snip of a girl of 
eighteen. This public display of familiar affection is 
never seen among men who pride themselves on 
making good lovers, as certain men do ; those who 
have reduced the practice of love-making to an art, a 



;"\' 




J / 



.. y 







HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

science, and know their lesson to a letter. These 
men are delightful to women, who like nothing so 
much as being made love to, as well after marriage 
as before ; but men who take matters quietly, and 
rely on the good sense of their wives to take matters 
quietly, too, sail round these scientific adorers for 
both depth and manliness. 

Books addressed to young married people abound 
with advice to the zvi/e to control her temper, and 
never to utter wearisome complaints or vexatious 
w^ords when the husband comes home fretful or un- 
reasonable from his out-of-door conflicts with the 
world. Would not the advice be as excellent and 
appropriate, if the husband were advised to conquer 
his fretfulness, and forbear his complaints, in consid- 
eration of his wife's ill-health, fatiguing cares, and 
the thousand disheartening influences of domestic 
routine? In short, whatsoever can be named as 
loveliest, best, and most graceful in woman, would 
likewise be good and graceful in man. 

O husbands ! think upon your duty. You who 
have taken a wife from a happy home of kindred 
hearts and kind companionship, have you given to 
her all of your time which you could spare, have you 
endeavored to make amends to her for the loss of 
these friends? Have you joined with her in her 
endeavors to open the minds of your children, and 
give them good moral lessons ? Have you strength- 
ened her mind with advice, kindness, and good books ? 
Have you spent your evenings with her in the culti- 
vation of intellectual, moral, or social excellence? 



i- 



ii 



iW 








TUSll\ND AND WIFE. 



479 





Have you looked upon her as an immortal being, as 
well as yourself.-^ 

There is a picture, bright and beautiful, but never- 
theless true, where hearts are united for mutual 
happiness and mutual improvement; where a kind 
voice cheers the wife in her hour of trouble, and 
where the shade of anxiety is chased from the hus- 
band's brow as he enters his home ; where sickness 
is soothetl by watchful love, and hope and faith burn 
brightly. For such there is a great reward, both 
here and hereafter, in their own and their families' 
spiritual happiness and growth, and in the blessed 
scenes of the world of spirits. 

And, wives ! do you also consult the tastes and 
dispositions of your husbands, and endeavor to give 
to them high and noble thoughts, lofty aims, and 
^, temporal comfort. Be ready to welcome them to 
#^'their homes, gradually draw their thoughts while 
with you from business, and lead them to the regions 
of the beautiful in art and nature, and the true and 
divine in sentiment. Foster a love of the elegant 
and refined, and gradually will you see business, 
literature, and high moral culture blending in "sweet 
accord." 

Before marriage, a young man would feel some 
delicacy about accepting an invitation to spend an 
evening in company where his 'Madye love" had not 
been invited. After marriage, is he always as partic- 
ular? During the days of courtship, his gallantry 
would demand that he should make himself agreeable 
to her ; after marriage, it often happens that he thinks 






~> 



^' -i 



430 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

more of being agreeable to himself. How often it 

I happens that a married man, after having be^^n away 

1} from home the livelong day, during which the wife 

\i has toiled at her duties, goes at evening again to some 

J place of amusement, and leaves her to toil on alone, 

uncheered and unhappy ! How often it happens that 

t\ her kindest offices pass unobserved, and unrewarded 

: even by a smile, and her best efforts are condemned 

by the fault-finding husband! How often it happens, 

even when the evening is spent at home, that it is 

employed in silent reading, or some other way, that 

does not recognize the wife's right to share in the 

enjoyments even of the fireside ! 

Look, ye husbands, for a moment, and remember 
what your wife was when you took her, not from 
compulsion, but from your own choice ; a choice 
based, probably, on what you then considered her 
superiority to all others. She was young — perhaps 
the idol of her happy home ; she was gay and blithe 
as the lark, and the brothers and sisters at her 
father's fireside cherished her as an object of endear- 
ment. Yet she left all to join her destiny with yours, 
to make your home happy, and to do all that woman's 
ingenuity could devise to meet your wishes and to 
lighten the burdens which might press upon you. 

The good wife ! How much of this world's happi- 
ness and prosperity is contained in the compass of 
these short words ! Her influence is immense. The 
power of a wife, for good or for evil, is altogether 
irresistible. Home must be the seat of happiness, or 
it must be forever unknown. A good wife is to a 



.J 





HUSBAND AND WIFE. 



481 




"^1: 




(-0 



•:<v i 




man wisdom, and courage, and strength, and hope, 
and endurance. A bad one is confusion, weakness, 
discomfiture, despair. No condition is hopeless when 
the wife possesses firmness, decision, energy, econ- 
omy. There is no outward prosperity which can 
-^Qunteract indolence, folly, and extravagance at home. 

V No spirit can long resist bad domestic influencesy- 
Man is sti-ong, but his heart is not adamant. He 
delights in enterprise and action, but to sustain him 
he needs a tranquil mind and a whole heart. He 
expends his whole moral force in the conflicts of the 
world. His feelings are daily lacerated to the utmost 
point of endurance by perpetual collision, irritation, 
and disappointment. 

Let woman know, then, that she ministers at the 
very fountain of life and happiness. It is her hand 

^:l;hat lades out with overflowing cup its soul-refreshing 
waters, or casts in the branch of bitterness which 
makes them poison and death. Her ardent spirit 
breathes the breath of life into all enterprise. Her 
patience and constancy are mainly instrumental in 
carrying forward to completion the best human de- 
signs. Her more delicate moral sensibility is the 
unseen power which is ever at work to purify arid 
refine society. And the nearest glimpse of heaven 
that mortals ever get on earth is that domestic circle 
which her hands have trained to intelligence, virtue, 
and love, which her gentle influence pervades, and 
of which her radiant presence is the centre and the 
sun. 

Watching those on the sidewalk on the way to 



*>^ f 




labor, we thought we could read a great deal of the 
homelife of each in the passing glance we gave as 
they went hurrying by. Here was one whose cloth- 
ing was ragged and neglected, and on his face a hard, 
dissatisfied expression. It was easy to see there was 
no hope in his heart ; that he went to his task as if 
it were a penalty imposed for crime, and that no 
pleasant and loving home cheered him at the evening 
and lifted from his heart the clouds that darkened his 
life. It is a terrible thing when the home of the poor 
lacks love — the only agency which can lighten its 
burdens and make it hopeful and happy. 

Beside him walks another — no better, but much 
cleanlier clad, and the broad patches of his blue over- 
alls are cleanly put on and not fringed with ragged 
edges. He has a home, you can see that at once, 
and, humble as it may be, there is a woman who is 
his confidante as well as his wife, and, together, they 
plan how to use their little means and increase their 
little store of comforts. They have ambition, and 
ambition to improve one's condition never fails to 
give force to character and something of dignity and 
worth of life. 

Last of all, though this consideration be not the 
/east of all, let it be remembered that the husband is 
bound by the divine law to treat his wife as an 
hnmortal being, and, therefore, to have regard to her 
m.oral and spiritual welfare. Can any man have a 
just sense of the truth that the partner of his heart, 
the sharer of his fortunes, whose earthly destiny is 
so closely linked with his own, is, like himself, an 



\rr' 





immortal spirit ; that, after the scenes of time shall 
all have vanished from her view like a gorgeous 
dream, she must enter upon those brighter ones that 
shall be forever expanding in beatific splendor, or 
else, if unprepared for them, must dwell in those 
gloomy realms which our Savior describes as "the 
outer darkness" of banishment from God and happi- 
ness, and yet cherish no lively interest in her educa- 
tion for the society of heaven ? In that remarkable 
hour that witnessed the formation of the marriage 
union, the era of separation was anticipated by the 
solemn vow which his lips then uttered, that he would 
cherish the object of his choice as ''the wife of his 
covenant" in wedded love ''till death should them 
part." 



-s4«^ 



-5^'/!^'^-^ 



Joy is a prize unbought, and is freest, purest in 
its flow when it comes unsought. No getting into 
heaven as a place will compass it. You must carry 
it with you, else it is not there. You must have it in 
you as the music of a well-ordered soul, the fire of a 
holy purpose. An unchanging state of joy is not 
possible on earth as it now is, because evil and error 
are here. The soul must have its midnight hour as 
well as its sunlight seasons of joy and gladness. Still 
the mercy of the Lord is shown as much in the night 
as in the day. It is only in the night that we can see 




484 



the stars. The noblest spirits, however, are those 
which turn to heaven, not in the hour of sorrow, but 
in that of joy ; Hke the lark, they wait for the clouds 
to disperse, that they may soar up into their native 
element. 

He who selfishly hoards his joys, thinking thus to 
increase them, is like a man who looks at his granary, 
and says, "Not only will I protect my grain from mice 
and birds, but neither the ground nor the mill shall 
have it." And so, in the spring, he walks around his 
little pit of corn, and exclaims, ''How wasteful are 
my neighbors, throwing away whole handfuls of 
grain!" But autumn comes; and, while he has only 
his few poor bushels, their fields are yellow with an 
abundant harvest. ''There is that that scattereth 
and yet increaseth." 

Wordly joy is like the songs which peasants sing, 
full of melodies and sweet airs. Christian joy has 
its sweet airs too ; but they are augmented to harmo- 
nies, so that he who has it goes to heaven, not to the 
voice of a single flute, but to that of a whole band of 
instruments, discoursing wondrous music. Those 
who joy in wealth grow avaricious ; those who joy in 
their friends too often lose nobility of spirit ; those 
who joy in sensuousness lose dignity of character; 
those who joy in literature ofttimes become pedantic ; 
but those who joy in liberty — i, e., that all should do 
as they would be done by — possess the happiest of 
joys. It is a solid joy no one can barter away. Ex- 
ceedingly few possess it. 

He who to the best of his power has secured the 




a 



-^v^ 






€ 



¥ 



JOY. 



486 






fin^l stake, has a perennial fountain of joy within him. 
He is satisfied from himself. They, his reverse, bor- 
row all from without, Joy wholly from without is 
false, precarious, and short. From without it may 
be gathered ; but, like gathered flowers, though fair 
and sweet for a season, it must soon wither and 
become offensive. Joy from, within is like smelling 
the rose on the tree. It is more sweet and fair — it is - 
lasting ; and, we must add, immortal. Happy are the 
moments when sorrow forgets its cares, and misery 
its misfortunes ; when peace and gladness spring up 
upon the radiant wings of hope, and the light of con- 
tentment dawns once more upon the disconsolate, 
unfortunate, and unhappy heart, — 

*' The past unsighed for, and the future sure." 

^' There is in this world continual interchange pj ^ 
pleasing and greeting accidents, still keeping theiP' 
succession of times, and overtaking each other in 
their several courses ; no picture can be all drawn of 
the brightest colors, nor a harmony consorted only of 
trebles ; shadows are needful in expressing of propor- 
tions, and the bass is a principle part in perfect music ; 
the condition here allows no unmeddled joy; our 
whole life is temperate between sweet and sour, and 
we must all look for a mixture of both : the wise so 
wish : better that they still think of worse, accepting 
the one if it come with liking, and bearing the other 
without impatience, being so much masters of each 
other's fortunes, that neither shall work them to 
excess. The dwarf grows not on the highest hill, the 











m 








BEAUTY. 



tall man loses not his height in the lowest valley; 
and as a base mind, though most at ease, will be 
dejected, so a resolute virtue in the deepest distress is 
most impregnable. 

There are joys which long to be ours. God sends 
ten thousand truths, which come about us like birds 
seeking inlet; but we are shut up to them, and so 
they bring us nothing, but sit and sing awhile upon 
the roof and then fly away. 



"Beauty,! thou pretty plaything ! dear deceit! 
That steals so softly o'er the stripling's heart, 
And gives it a new pulse unknown before." 

We doubt not that God is a lover of beauty. He 
fashioned the worlds in beauty, when there was no 
eye to behold them but His own. All along the wild 
old forest He has carved the forms of beauty. Every 
cliff, and mountain, and tree is a statue of beauty. 
Every leaf, and stem, and vine, and flower is a form 
of beauty. Every hill, and dale, and landscape is a 
picture of beauty. Every cloud, and mist-wreath, and 
vapor- veil is a shadowy reflection of beauty. Every 
diamond, and rock, and pebbly beach is a mine of 
beauty. Every sun, and planet, and star is a blazing 
face of beauty. All along the aisles of earth, all over 
the arches of heaven, all through the expanses of the 
universe, are scattered in rich and infinite profusion 









i\\ T: 






I' ' 

i 



''IM, 



* 



/i 



m 





BEAUTY. 



487 



the llfe-g-ems of beauty. All this ^reat realm of 
dazzling" and bewildering beauty was made by God. 
Shall we say, then, He is not a lover of beauty ? 

There is beauty in the songsters of the air. The 
symmetry of their bodies, the wing so light and expert 
in fanning the breeze, the graceful neck and head, 
their tiny feet and legs, all so well fitted for their 
native element, and more than this, their sweet notes 
:^-^waken delight in every heart that loves to 
rejoice. Who can range the sunny fields and shady 
forests on a bright summer's day, and listen to the 
melody of a thousand voices chanting their Maker's 
praise, and not feel the soul melt with joy and grati- 
tude for such refreshing scenes ? The universe is its 
temple ; and those men who are alive to it cannot lift 
their eyes without feeling themselves encompassed 
with it on every side. Now this beauty is so prec 

le enjoyments it gives are so refined an4,/pfr^>^ 
congenial with our tenderest and noblest feelings, 
and so akin to worship, that it is painful to think of 
the multitude of men as living in the midst of it, and 
living almost as blind to it as if, instead of this fair 
earth and glorious sky, they were tenants of a dun- 
geon. An infinite joy is lost to the world by the want 
of culture of this spiritual endowment. 

The highest style of beauty to be found in nature 
pertains to the human form, as animated and lighted 
up by the intelligence within. It is the expression of 
the soul that constitutes this superior beauty. It is 
that which looks out at the eye, which sits in calm 
majesty on the brow, lurks on the lip, smiles on the 





1 1 







I 



cheek, is set forth in the chiseled Hnes and features of 
the countenance, in the general contour of figure and 
form, in the movement, and gesture, and tone ; it is 
this looking out of the invisible spirit that dwells 
within, this manifestation of the higher nature, that 
we admire and love; this constitutes to us the beauty 
of our species. Hence it is that certain features, not 
in themselves particularly attractive, wanting, it may 
be, in certain regularity of outline, or in certain deli- 
cacy and softness, are still invested in a peculiar charm 
and radiance of beauty from their peculiar expressive- 
ness and animation. The light of genius, the supe- 
rior glow of sympathy, and a noble heart, play upon 
those^plain, and it may be, homely features, and light 
them up with a brilliant and regal beauty. Those, as 
every artist knows, are the most difficult to portray. 
The expression changes with the instant. Beauty 
flashes, and is gone, or gives place to a still higher 
beauty, as the light that plays in fitful corruscations 
along the Northern sky, coming and going, but never 
still.^ 

We would now dwell upon the beauty of spirit, 
soul, mind, heart, life. There is a beauty which per- 
ishes not. It is such as the angels wear. It forms 
the washed white robes of the saints. It wreathes 
the countenance of every doer of good. It adorns 

everv honest face. It shines in the virtuous life. It 

•J 

molds the hands of charity. It sweetens the voice 
of sympathy. It sparkles on the brow of wisdom. 
It flashes in the eye of love. It breathes in the spirit 
of piety. It is the beauty of the heaven of heavens. 



^Tr 




r":^ 











#- 



BEAUTY. 




-^^i, 




i} 




It IS that which may q^tow by the hand of culture in 
every human soul. It is the flower of the spirit which 
blossoms on the tree of life. Every soul may plant 
and nurture it in its own garden, in its own Eden. 
Thi'=% is the capacity for beauty that God has given to 
/the human soul, and this the beauty placed within the 
breach of us all.^ We may all be beautiful. Though 
pur forms feiyl^'u4:icomely and our features not the 
prettiest, our spirits may be beautiful. And this 
inward beauty always shines through. A beautiful 
heart will flash out in the eye. A lovely soul will 
glow in the face. A sweet spirit will tune the voice, 
wreathe the countenance in charms. Oh, there is 
a power in interior beauty that melts the hardest 
heart ! 

Woman, by common consent, we regard as the 
:^ost perfect type of beauty on^^arth. T6 ;Jier^ w^/ • 
ascribe the highest charms belonging to this wonder-'''^ 
ful element so profusely mingled in all God's works. 
Her form is molded and finished in exquisite delicacy 
of perfection. The earth gives us no form more per- 
fect, no features more symmetrical, no style more 
chaste, no movements more graceful, no finish more 
complete ; so that our artists ever have and ever will 
regard the woman-form of humanity as the most per- 
fect earthly type of beauty. This form is most per- 
fect and symmetrical in the youth of womanhood ; so 
that youthful woman is earth's queen of beauty. 
This is true, not only by the common consent of 
mankind, but also by the strictest rules of scientific 
criticism. 









! 



pi 



u 




^ssif^r 





490 



BEAUTY. 



This being- an admitted fact, woman, and especially 
youthful woman, is laid under strong obligations and 
exposed to great temptations. • Beauty has wonderful 
charms — a charming gift of pleasure. Beauty will 
not only win for her admiring eyes, but it will win her 
favor ; it will draw hearts toward her ; it will awaken 
tender and agreeable feelings in her behalf; it will 
disarm the stranger of the peculiar prejudices he often 
has toward those he knows not ; it will pave the way 
to esteem ; it will weave the links to friendship's chain ; 
it will throw an air of agreeableness into the manners 
of all who approach her. All this her beauty will do 
for her before she puts forth a single effort of her 
own to win the esteem and love of her fellows. 

Socrates called beauty a short-lived tyranny ; Plato, 
a privilege of nature; Theophrastus, a silent cheat; 
Theocritus, a delightful prejudice ; Cameades, a soli- 
tary kingdom ; Domitian said, that nothing was more 
grateful ; Aristotle affirmed, that beauty was better 
than all the letters of recommendation in the world ; 
Homer, that it was a glorious gift of nature ; and 
Ovid calls it a favor bestowed by the gods. But, as 
regards the elements of beauty in women, it is not 
too much to say that no woman can be beautiful by 
force of features alone ; there must be as well sweet- 
ness and beauty of soul. Beauty has been called 
"the power and aims of woman." Diogenes called 
it ''woman's most forcible letter of recommendation." 
Cameades represented it, *'a queen without soldiers ;'' 
and Theocritus says it is "a serpent covered with 
flowers;" while a modern author defines it **a bait 



BEAUT\. 




V XP^ 



that as often catches the fisher as the fish." Nearly 
all the old philosophers denounced and ridiculed 
beauty as evanescent, worthless and mischievous ; 
but, alas ! while they preached against it they were 
none the less its slaves. None of them were able to 
withstand ''the sly, smooth witchcraft of a fair young 
face." A really beautiful woman is a natural queen 
in^the universe of love, where all hearts pay a glad 
tribute to her reign. 

Nothing is all dark. There cannot be a picture 
without its bright spots ; and the steady contempla- 
tion of what is bright in others, has a reflex influence 
upon the beholder. It reproduces what it reflects. 
Nay, it seems to leave an impress even upon the 
countenance. The feature, from having a dark, sin- 
ister aspect, becomes open, serene, and sunny. A 
pountenance so impressed, has neither the vacaM }^^.. 
.stare of the idiot, nor the crafty, penetrating^ loolc of 
the basilisk, but the clear placid aspect of truth and 
goodness. The woman who has such a face is beau- 
tiful. She has a beauty which changes not with the 
features, which fades not with years. It is beauty of 
expression. It is the only kind of beauty which can 
be relied upon for a permanent influence with the 
other sex. The violet will soon cease to smile. 
Flowers must fade. The love that has nothing but 
beauty to sustain it soon withers away. A pretty 
wom.an pleases the eye ; a good woman, the heart. 
The one is a jewel, the other a treasure. Invincible 
fidelity, good humor, and complacency of temper, 
outlive all the charms of a fine face, and make the 




^^^^.^^ 







T 








BEAUTY 



decay of It invisible. That is true beauty which has 
not only a substance, but a spirit ; a beauty that we 
must intimately know to justly appreciate. 

Beauty has been not unaptly, though perhaps rather 
vulgarly, defined as ''all in the eye," since it addresses 
itself solely to that organ, and is intrinsically of little 
value. From this ephemeral flower spring many of 
the ingredients of matrimonial unhappiness. It is a 
dangerous gift for both its possessor and its admirer. 
If its possession, as is often the case, turns the head, 
while its loss sours the temper, if the long regret of 
its decay outweighs the fleeting pleasure of its bloom, 
the plain should pity rather than envy the handsome. 
Beauty of countenance, which, being the light of the 
soul shining through the face, is independent of fea- 
tures or complexion, is the most attractive as well as 
the most enduring charm. Nothing but talent and 
amiability can bestow it, no statue or picture can rival 
it, and time itself cannot destroy it. 

Man, however, is not the highest type of beauty; 
for in him, as in all things on earth, is mingled along 
with the beauty much that is deformed — with the 
excellence much imperfection. We can conceive 
forms superior to his — faces radiant with a beauty 
that sin has never darkened, nor passion nor sorrow 
dimmed. We can conceive forms of beauty more 
perfect, purer, brighter, loftier than anything that 
human eyes have ever seen. Imagination fashions 
these conceptions, and art produces them. This, the 
poet, the painter, the sculptor, the architect, the ora- 
tor, each in his own way, is ever striving to do, to 












'"^ 






'^tJ' 



^:;. 



MUSIC. 



493 



present, under sensible forms, the Ideal of a more 
perfect loveliness and excellence than the actual world 
aftords. This, however, cannot be done successfully, 
as perfection of beauty dwells alone with God. 






..,4|^^„»f^,. 



.•-;- J 11 



'70^ 



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V'*:'^^. 




3V^ 




m%t^< 




" When griping grief the heart doth wound, 
And doleful dumps the mind oppress, 
Then music, with her silver sound, 
With speedy help doth lend redress." 

Oh, the rapturous charm of music ! What power it 
has to soften, melt, enchain in its spirit-chords of sub- 
duing harmony ! Truly there is power in music ; an 
almost omnipotent power. It will tyi'S-nnize over, th^ 
soul. It will force it to bow down and worship, it 
will wring adoration from it, and compel the heart to 
yield its treasures of love. Every emotion, from the 
most reverent devotion to the wildest gushes of frol- 
icsome joy it holds subject to its imperative will. It 
calls the religious devotee to worship, the patriot to 
his country's altar, the philanthropist to his generous 
work, the freeman to the temple of liberty, the friend 
to the altar of friendship, the lover to the side of his 
beloved. It elevates, empowers, and strengthens 
them all. The human soul is a mighty harp, and all 
its strings vibrate to the gush of music. 

Who does not know the softening power of music, 
especially the music of the human voice } It is like the 



4 



'^^^p 



■ 1 



% 







ang-el-whisperings of kind words in the hour of 
trouble. Who can be angry when the voice of love 
speaks in song"? Who hears the harsh voice of sel- 
fishness, and brutalizing passion, when music gathers 
up her pearly love-notes to salute the ear with a stray 
song of paradise ? Sing to the wicked man, sing to 
the disconsolate, sing to the sufferer, sing to the old, 
and sing to the children, for music will inspire them 
all. 

The human voice is the most perfect musical instru- 
ment ever made ; and well it might be, for it had the 
most skillful maker. The voice should be cultivated 
to sine the tones of love to man and God. Around 
the fireside, in the social circle, it should sing the 
voice of love, and at the altar of God it should pour 
forth melodious praise. 

How* sweet does it make the worship of God to 
have the reverent emotions poured out in song ! 
How early should children he taught to sing; for 
what is sweeter than the songs of innocent childhood, 
so refining, so refreshing, so suggestive of heaven? 
Music sweetens the cup of bitterness, softens the 
hand of want, lightens the burden of life, makes the 
heart courageous, and the soul cheerfully devout. 
Into the soul of childhood and youth it pours a tide 
of redeeming influence. Its first and direct effect ia 
to mentalize the musical performer ; not to give him 
knowledge, 'lor more wisdom in the practical, busi- 
ness affairs of life, but to stir his mental being to 
activity, to awaken strong emotions, to move among 
the powers within as a common electrifier, touching 






\ iit) 

i 



\h 



h '''1 




here with tenderness, there with energy, now with 
holy aspiration, and anon with the inspiring thrill of 
beauty. It breathes like a miracle of inspiration 
through the soul, to elevate, refine, and spiritualize. 
No lethargy can exist in the soul that is pouring forth 
a tide of music numbers. Its very recesses are all 
asjfir. Everything within becomes active ; the percep- 
tions acute, the affections warm, the moral sensibili- 
ties quick and sensitive. When we think how much 
the world wants awakening, we can think of no power 
better calculated to do it than that which dwells in 
the mysterious melodies of music. Let every body 
become musicians and surely they would become 
living souls. 

Besides music being powerful, universal, the voice 
of love, and the type of the infinite, it is venerable 
^-yjsr its age. As it is the voice of God's love, we kno-\y 
K^^not but it is co-existent with His beingf. ItHsreasotl 
able to suppose that its swelling numbers have rolled 
and made heaven vocal with its strains of praise 
since creation dawned. But the first account of it on 
record was at the laying of the foundations of the 
earth, when the ''morning stars," delighted with the 
promise of a new planet, ''sang together, and all the 
sons of God shouted for joy." As soon as the earth 
was made, its rocky spires thrown up, its forest harps 
strung, its ocean organs tuned, it raised its everlasting 
anthem to swell the chorus of the skies. 

Every song soothes and uplifts. It is just possible 
that at times a song is as good as a prayer. Indeed 
a song of the pure kind recognized in Scripture, is 




^?^'u 





akin to a petition, which it is also in the spirit of 
thanksgiving. The "sweet singer of Israel" wedded 
his sincerest prayers to melody, and wafted them 
upward on the night air from his throbbing heart. In 
the soul that has been touched and made tender by 
the fingers of pain, music finds a place where it 
may murmur its sweetest chords. 

Music is healthful. There is no better cure for dad 
humors, and no medicine more pleasant to take. We 
cannot join those who lament that the piano is heard 
where once the monotone of the spinning-wheel, and* 
the click of the shuttle, were the only instrumental 
performances. It is a matter of rejoicing rather that 
muscles of iron and fingers of steel, driven by the 
tireless elements, now perform the laborious work of 
cloth manufacture and give leisure to cultivate 
refined tastes in the household. Music is to the ear 
and to the intellect what strawberries, peaches, and 
other luscious fruits, are to the taste. Who regrets 
that the forests have been cleared, the walls and 
fences built, the grain crops made sufficiently easy of 
cultivation, to allow the addition of the ffuit yard and 
garden for the enjoyment of the cultivator? One 
of the greatest attractions for old and young, when 
visiting our cities, is the music that may be heard here. 
Why should the farmer's household not be as cheer- 
ful, as full of pleasure, as that of the merchant or the 
professional man ? We know of nothing more genial 
and heart-warming than to hear the whole family 
joining in a hymn or song. They will love each other 
and their home better for it. Songs learned in 



^li 






I 



ry|i> 




a> 



^>^^ 



MUSIC. 497 

childhood are Hke birds nestling in the bosom ; their 
notes will be heard and loved in after years. The 
hymn sung by a mother to her little boy may in after 
days be a voice that will recall him from ruin. 

No family can afford to do without music. It is a 
luxury and an economy ; an alleviator of sorrow, and 
a spring of enjoyment ; a protection against vice and 
an incitement to virtue. When rightly used, its 
effects, physical, intellectual and moral, are good, very 
good, and only good. Make home attractive ; music 
affords a means of doing this. Contribute kindly k^^,y^i 
feeling, love. Music will help in this work. Keep W 

out angry feeling. "Music hath charms to soothe 
the savage breast." Show us the family where good 
music is cultivated, where the parents and children 
are accustomed often to mingle their voices together 
in song, and we will show you one where peace, 
harmony and love prevail, and where the great vices 
have no abiding place. 

One morning the sweet voice of a woman was / ; ^ 
heard singing a ballad in one of the tenement house \J^: 
districts of the Garden City. The effect of it was 
almost magical. Not only did children swarm out of 
their dingy homes and surround the singer, but the 
stoops were crowded by adults, and old heads leaned 
out of windows for several blocks on either side. 
Faces brightened everywhere. The blacksmith 
ceased his din and stood with arms akimbo on the 
sidewalk. The poor, sick widow in a near tenement ^ 
listened and forgot her sorrow and pain ; the broad- ^^ 
faced wife whose stolid countenance, hardened by 



^ 






want and contact with vice, paused from her employ 
ment, and as she listened somethin^^ touched hc;f 
heart, her better nature was stirred, and beating time 
to the simple melody, wished she had a penny to give 
the songster. The hod-carriers halted; the well- 
dressed pedestrian, on whose face, when he saw the 
crowd gathering, there was at first a look of disdain, 
as if he would say, **No hand-organ music for me, if 
you please," at last stood still and blushed, as the 
beauty of the song stirred his inmost heart. And 
when the music ceased, the listeners turned again to 
their employments, as if refreshed in spirits and 
quickened to contented thoughts of the work-a-day 
world. 

Music means not merely tunes adapted to particular 
emotions — a set of notes, a warbling voice, a strain 
of *' melting sweetness" — O! no: music can be acted 
as well as sung. The heart may make music when 
the lips are dumb. A simple word may be full of 
music, and stir the pulses to new and better emotions, 
the soul to higher joys ! The harmony of a well 
ordered life is most graceful music ; the tender cares 
and caresses of a wife ; her fond solicitude to make 
home all it should be ; the kindred gentleness and 
affection of the husband ; the quiet and ready obedi- 
ence of the children — all these, do they not make a 
household of music, that in the land beyond shall be 
chanted by choirs of angels, when at last such families 
meet, unbroken bands, in heaven? 

If only sound were music, how many thousands 
would be denied that delightful solace ! Some there 




T}0i^ 





i 





^ 




1^/ 



MUSIC. 



499 



are who cannot sing — and yet whose natures are 
finest harps, from which an unheard melody (unheard 
by mortal ears) is continually ascending. Some there 
are who cannot even speak, nor hear, and yet their 
sympathies, their nice comprehensions, are beautiful 
with the subtle instinct of melody. O ! tell us where 
music is not! Now we hear it in the pensive sound 
of the autumnal winds — we see it in the sparkling 
flow of the bright river ; we hear it, as it were, in the 
morning stars ; and just now a sweet voice uttered 
words of music. It is in all the elements ; the flame 
has a cheerful hum of its own, and the crackling 
sparks beat time. The water ripples with music ; the 
air is always whispering melody, and the bountiful 
earth ceases never its songs of praise. The trickling 
rain-drops sing as they fall ; the crowded leaves 
answer to the pipes of the birds; the sun sets the day 
to singing, and the Almighty has made man to sing . ] 
songs of praise to Him throughout all eternity. 

But the world needs music — the touching domestic 
song that tells in few words the loves, the trials, or 
the blisses of life — the more sacred music that leads 
the soul to communion with God — it needs music — 
its poor cry aloud for music ; they are tired of the§ 
inharmonious din of toil, and a few sweet notes bring 
with them hours of pleasure to the weary and world- 
forsaken. 






s f 





To BE ambitious of true honor, of the true glory 
and perfection of our natures, is the very principle and 
incentive of virtue ; but to be ambitious of titles, of 
place, of ceremonial respects and civil pageantry, is 
as vain and little as the things we court. 

True honor, as defined by Cicero, is the concur- 
rent approbation of good men ; those only being fit 
to give true praise who are themselves praiseworthy. 
Anciently the Romans worshiped virtue and honor as 
gods ; they built two temples, which were so seated 
that none could enter the temple of honor without 
passing through the temple of virtue. 

The way to be truly honored is to be illustriously 
good. Maximilian, the German emperor, replied to 
one who desired his letters patent to ennoble him, 
saying, ''I am able to make you rich ; but virtue must 
make you noble." Who would not desire the honor 
that Agesilaus, king of Sparta, had, who was fined by 
the Sphori for having stolen away all the hearts of the 
people to himself alone ? Of whom it is said that he 
ruled his country by obeying it. It is with glory as 
with beauty, for as a single fine lineament cannot 
make a fine face, neither can a single good quality 
render a man accomplished ; but a concurrence of 
many fine features and good qualities make true 
beauty and true honor. 

The Athenians raised a noble statue to the memory 




1 



:( 



^^- 



A 



I 



\.-J 



HONOR. 



501 





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r^w-l^:^^ 



of ^sop, and placed a slave on a pedestal, that men 
might know the way to honor was open to all. The 
man of honor is internal, the person of honor an 
external ; the one a real, the other a fictitious charac- 
ter. A person of honor may be a profane libertine, 
penurious, proud, may insult his inferiors, and defraud 
his creditors ; but it is impossible for a man of honor^ 
to be guilty of any of these. 

Among the ancient Greeks and Romans, in their 
best days, honor was more sought after than wealth. 
Times are changed. Now, wealth is the surest pass- 
port to honor ; and respectability is endangered by 
poverty. "Rome, was Rome no more" when the 
imperial purple had become an article of traffic, and 
when gold could purchase with ease the honors that 
patriotism and valor could once secure only with 
difficulty. 

There is no true glory, no true greatness, without 
virtue ; without which we do but abuse all the good 
things we have, whether they be great or little, false 
or real. Riches make us either covetous or prodigal ; 
fine palaces make us despise the poor and poverty ; a 
great number of domestics flatter human pride, which 
uses them like slaves ; valor oftentimes turns brutal 
and unjust ; and a high pedigree makes a man take 
up with the virtues of his ancestors, without endeav- 
oring to acquire any himself 

It is a fatal and delusive ambition which allures 
many to the pursuit of honors as sitch, or as accessions 
to some greater object in view. The substance is 
dropped lo catch the shade, and the much-coveted 



f 



f*3- 




la. 



^ 




distinctions, in nine cases out of ten, prove to be 
mere airy phantasms and gilded mists. Real honor 
and real esteem are not difficult to be obtained in the 
world, but they are best won by actual worth and 
merit, rather than by art and intrigue, which run a 
long and ruinous race, and seldom seize upon the 
prize at last. Seek not to be honored in any way 
save in thine own bosom, within thyself. 

*' Honor and shame from no condition rise : 
Act well your part, there all the honor lies." 









itniu^ unA ^H%til 



Genius is of the soul, talent of the understanding; 
genius is warm, talent is passionless. Without genius 
there is no intuition, no inspiration ; without talent, 
no execution. Genius is interior, talent exterior; 
hence genius is productive, talent accumulative. 
Genius invents, talent accomplishes. Genius gives 
the substance, talent works it up under the eye, or 
rather under the feeling, of genius. 

Genius is that quality or character of the mind 
which is inventive, or generates ; which gives to the 
world new ideas in science, art, literature, morals, or 
religion, which recognizes no set rules or principles, 
but is a law unto itself, and rejoices in its own origin- 
ality; which admitting of a direction, never follows 
the old beaten track, but strikes out for a new course ; 



ii 



A 







which has no fears of pubHc opinion, nor leans upon 
pubhc favor — always leads but never follows, which 
admits no truth unless convinced by experiment, 
reflection, or investigation, and never bows to the 
ipse dixit of any man, or society, or creed. 

Talent is that power or capacity of mind which 
reasons rapidly from cause to effect ; which sees 
throjjgh a thing- at a glance, and comprehends the 
rules and^ principles upon which it works ; which can 
take in knowledge without laborious mental study, 
and needs no labored illustrations to impress a prin- 
ciple or a fact, no matter how abstruse, hidden, com- 
plex, or intricate. Differing from genius by following 
rules and principles, but capable of comprehending 
the works of genius — imitating with ease, and thereby 
claiming a certain kind of originality, talent is the 
^l^le, comprehensive agent ; while genius is the^ 
director. j^^' 

Genius is emotional, talent intellectual ; hence 
genius is creative, and talent instrumental. Genius 
has insight, talent only outsight. Genius is always 
calm, reserved, self-centered ; talent is often bustling, 
officious, confident. Genius is rather inward, creative, 
and angelic ; talent, outward, practical, and worldly. 
Genius disdains and defies imitation ; talent is often 
the result of universal imitation in respect to every- 
thing that may contribute to the desired excellence. 
Genius has quick and strong sympathies, and is 
sometimes o-iven to reverie and vision ; talent is cool 
and wise, and seldom loses sight of common sense. 
Genius is born for a particular purpose, in which it 




xv^ 




^^^S^^^^s?"" 



504 




GENIUS AND TALENT. 




rm 



i 







surpasses ; talent is versatile, and may make a respect- 
able figure at almost anything. Genius gives the 
impulse and aim as well as the illumination ; talent 
the means and implements. Genius, in short, is the 
central, finer essence of the mind, the self-lighted fire, 
the intuitional gift. Talent gathers and shapes and 
applies what genius forges. Genius is often entirely 
right, and is never wholly wrong; talent is never 
wholly right. Genius avails itself of all the capabili- 
ties of talent, appropriates to itself what suits and 
helps it. Talent can appropriate to itself nothing, 
for it has not the inward heat that can fuse all material 
and assimilate all food to convert it into blood ; this 
only genius can do. Goethe was a man of genius, 
and at the same time of immense and varied talents ; 
and no contemporary profited so much as he did by 
all the knowledges, discoveries and accumulations 
made by others. 

Talent is full of thoughts ; but genius full of 
thought. Genius makes its observations in short 
hand ; talent writes them out at length. Talent is a 
very common family trait, genius belongs rather to 
individuals ; just as you find one giant or one dwarf 
in a family, but rarely a whole brood of either. Men 
of genius are often dull and inert in society, as the 
blazing meteor when It descends to earth is only a 
stone. For full success the two, genius and talent, 
should co-exist in one mind in balanced proportions, 
as they did in Goethe's, so that they can play 
smoothly together in effective combination. The 
work of the world, even the higher ranges, being 



^^^ 



^^.. 






GENIUS AND TALENT. 505 

done by talent, talent, backed by Industry, is sure 
to achieve outward success. Commonplace is the 
smooth road on which are borne the freights that 
supply the daily needs of life ; but genius, as the c , <. 
originator of all appliances and aids and motions and if 

improvements, is the parent of what is to-day com- 
*^^^ mon — of all that talent has turned to practical 

account. c^*-^^,^ '^^"V 

It is one of the mysteries of our life that genius, 
that noblest gift of God to man, is nourished by 
poverty. Its greatest works have been achieved by 
the sorrowing ones of the world in tears and despair. 
Not in the brilliant saloon, furnished with every com- 
fort and elegance ; not in the library well fitted, softly 
carpeted, and looking out upon a smooth, green 
lawn, or a broad expanse of scenery ; not in ease and 
competence, is genius born and nurtured ; more fre- : y,.^. 
quently in adversity and destitution, amidst the har- €r/ 



'P 



assing cares of a straitened household, in bare and 
fireless garrets, with the noise of squalid children, in 
the midst of the turbulence of domestic contentions, 
and in the deep gloom of uncheered despair, is genius 
born and reared. This Is its birth-place ; and in scenes 
like these, unpropitlous, repulsive, wretched, have 
men labored, studied and trained themselves, until 
they have at last emanated out of the gloom of that 
obscurity the shining lights of their times, become 
the companions of kings, the guides and teachers of 
their kind, and exercised an influence upon the 
thought of the world amounting to a species of intel- 
lectual legislation. 





506 



GENIUS AND TALENT 



^^u...- 




u 



Genius involves a more than usual susceptlbilii:y to 
divine promptings, a delicacy in spiritual speculation, 
a quick obedience to the invisible helmsman ; and 
these high superiorities imply fineness and fullness of 
organization. ''The man of genius is subject," says 
Joubert, "to transport, or rather rapture, of mind." 
In this exalted state he has glimpses of truth, beauties, 
principles, laws, that are new revelations, and bring 
additions to human power. Goethe might have been 
thinking of Kepler when he said, "Genius is that 
power of man which by thought and action gives 
laws and rules;" and Coleridge of Milton,. when he 
wrote, "The ultimate end of genius is ideal;" and 
Hegel may have had Michael Angelo in his mind 
when, in one of his chapters on the plastic arts, he 
affirms that "Talent cannot do its part fully without 
the animation, the besouling of genius." 

Great powers and natural gifts do not bring privi- 
leges to their possessors, so much as they bring duties. 
A contemporary, in dilating on genius, thus sagely 
remarks: "The talents granted to a single individual 
do not benefit himself alone, but are gifts to the world ; 
every one shares them, for every one suffers or bene- 
fits by his actions. Genius is a light-house, meant to 
give light from afar; the man who bears it is but the 
rock upon which the light-house is built." 

Hath God given you genius and learning? It was 
not that you might amuse or deck yourself with it 
and kindle a blaze which should only serve to attract 
and dazzle the eyes of men. It was intended to be 
the means of leading both yourself and them to the 



m 






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THINKERS. 




^^ 



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Father of light. And it will be your duty, according 
to the peculiar turn of that genius and capacity, either 
to endeavor to promote and adorn human life, or, by 
a more direct application of it to divine subjects, to 
plead the cause of religion, to defend its truths, to 
enforce and recommend its practice, to deter men 
from courses which would be dishonorable to God and 
fatal to themselves, and to try the utmosts efforts of 
all the solemnity and tenderness with which you can 
clothe your addresses, to lead them into the paths 
of virtue and happiness. 




^-^/ir^^ 



hinhtf^^ 



^z^Thinkers rise upon us like new stars — a fei 
Century. The multitude run after them, and, HI 
Lazarus, eat the crumbs that fall from 'heir table. 
They follow them by instinct ; they adopt their theories 
and accept their thoughts at sight, Calvin rose and 
thought. What a multitude swallowed his hard, 
rocky thoughts, as though they were digestible 
mental food ! Wesley rose, and another multitude 
followed him, much as Mohammedans followed their 
prophet. Swedenborg rose in the North, and 
straightway a cloud of witnesses appeared about him 
to testify to all he wrote. Davis came above the 
horizon, and lo ! an army follows in his train. So it 
Is ; men swallow whole what they eat, wheat or chaff, 
meat or bone, nut or shell. They do not masticate 




508 



THINKERS. 



./' 



their mental food ; they do not examine the facts they 
learn ; they do not digest their knowledge. If they 
did we should not have schools of men, sects, parties, 
but one grand lyceum of individual thinkers ; every 
one making his own use of his knowledge, forming 
his own conclusions, and working out his own, kind 
and degree of culture. We read enough to have a 
generation of philosophers. 

Dull thinkers are always led by sharp ones. T he 
keen intellect cuts its way smoothly, gracefully, rap- 
idly ; the dull one wears its life out against the simplest 
problems. To perceive accurately and to think cor- 
rectly, is the aim of all mental training. Heart and 
conscience are more than the mere intellect. Yet we 
cannot tell how much the clear, clean-cut thought, the 
intellectual vision, sharp and true, may aid even these. 
Some say that a man never feels till he sees, and when 
the object disappears, the feeling ceases. So we 
cannot exaggerate the importance of clear, correct 
thinking. We should eat, drink, sleep, walk, exercise 
body and mind, to this end. Just so far as we fail, we 
make dolts and idiots of ourselves. We cast away 
our natural armor and defense. The designing make 
us dupes ; we are overreached by the crafty, and 
trodden under foot by the strong. 

Undigested learning is as oppressive as undigested 
food ; and as in the dyspeptic patient, the appetite for 
food often grows with the inability to digest it, so in 
the unthinking patient, an overweening desire to know 
often accompanies the inability to know to any purpose. 
Thought is to the brain what gastric juice is to the 




^^ 



^ 



THINKERS. 509 

stomach — a solvent to reduce whatever is received 
to a condition in which all that is wholesome and 
nutritive may be appropriated, and that alone. To 
learn merely for the sake of learning, is like eating ^ 

merely for the taste of the food. The mind will wax 
fat and unwieldly, like the body of the gormand. 
The stomach is to the frame what memory is to the 
mind ; and it is as unwise to cultivate the memory at 
the expense of the mind as it would be to enlarge the 
capacity of the stomach by eating more food than the ^-' 
wants of the frame require, or food that it could not 
appropriate. To learn in order to become wise makes 
the mind active and powerful, like the body of one ; 

iv ^ who is temperate and judicious in meat and drink. 

^'^ Learning is healthfully digested by the mind when it 
reflects upon what is learned, classifies and arranges 
facts and circumstances, considers the relations of one 
to another, and places what is taken into the mind at 
different times in relation to the same subjects under 
their appropriate heads ; so that the various stores 
are not heterogeneously piled up, but laid away in 
order, and may be referred to with ease when wanted. 
If a person's daily employments are such as demand 
a constant exercise of the thoughts, all the leisure 
should not be devoted to reading, but a part reserved 
for reflecting upon and arranging in the mind what is 
read. The manner of reading is much more impor- 
tant than the quantity. To hurry through many 
books, retaining only a confused knowledge of their 
contents, is but a poor exercise of the brain ; it is far 
better to read with care a few well selected volumes. 



T. i, 



Some of the great advantages of thinking are the 
following: First, it transfers and conveys the senti- 
ments of others to ourselves, so as to make them 
properly our own. Secondly, it enables us to distin- 
guish truth from error, and to reject what is wrong 
after we have seen, read, or heard anything. Thirdly, 
by this we fix in our memory only what we best 
approve of, without loading it with all that we read. 
Lastly, by properly meditating on what comes within 
the view of our minds, we may improve upon the 
sentiments or inventions of others, and thereby 
acquire great reputation, and perhaps emolument, 
from their labors. 

All mental superiority originates in habits of think- 
ing. A child, indeed, like a machine, may be made 
to perform certain functions by external means ; but it 
is only when he begins to think that he rises to the 
dignity of a rational being. It is not reading, but 
thinking, that gives you a possession of knowledge. 
A person may see, hear, lead and learn whatever 
he pleases and as much as he pleases ; but he will 
know very little, if anything, of it, beyond that which 
he has thought over and made the property of his 
mind. Take away thought from the life of man and 
what remains ? You may glean knowledge by read- 
ing, but you must separate the chaff from the wheat 
by thinking. 

At every action and enterprise, ask yourself this 
question : What will the consequence of this be to 
me? Am I not likely to repent of it? I shall be 
dead in a little time, and then all is over with me. 



if 
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Whatever thou takest in hand, remember the end, 
and thou shalt never do amiss. Think before you 
speak, and consider before you promise. Take time 
to dehberate and advise ; but lose no time in execut- 
ing your resolutions. Do nothing to-day that you will 
repent of to-morrow. In the morning think of what 
you have to do, and at night ask yourself what you 
fflave done. Seek not out the thoughts that are too 
^h^d for you. Strive not in a matter that concerns 
you not. Evil thoughts are dangerous enemies, and 
should be repulsed at the threshold of our minds. 
Fill the head and heart with good thoughts, that 
there be no room for bad ones. 

Some persons complain that they cannot find words 
for their thoughts, when the real trouble is they can- 
not find thoughts for their words. The man who 
^^ thinks laboriously will express himself concisely. Iti 
^ is only by labor that thought can be made healthy, 
and only by thought that labor can be made happy. 
It is not depth of thought which makes obscure to 
others the work of a thinker ; real and offensive 
obscurity comes merely of inadequate thought embod- 
ied in inadequate language. What is clearly compre- 
hended or conceived, what is duly wrought and 
thought out, must find for itself and seize upon the 
clearest and fullest expression. Thoughts are but 
dreams till their effects be tried. The best thoughts 
are ever swiftest winged, the duller lag behind. 
A thought must have its own way of expression, or 
it will have no way at all. The thought that lives is 
only the deed struggling into birth. It is with our 



=:^ 




612 



THINKERS. 



li 




C- 




thoug-hts as with our flowers — those that are simple 
in expression carry their seed with them ; those that 
are double charm the mind, but produce nothing. 

There is much need of independent thought in our 
day. Too many yield to the opinions of others with- 
out asking or meditating upon their bearing. Often- 
times the masses . are enslaved to opinion, especially 
in political matters. This may be necessary in some 
countries, where a few rule, but not in our country, 
where, through a liberal education, all may be taught 
to think. Books are so cheap now that the poorest 
can have access to the channels of thought. Books, 
however, should only be used as an impetus to set the 
mind in motion and set it to prying deeper and farther 
into nature's hidden recesses and boundless realms of 
truth, or, as a stone that is cast into the calm bosom 
of the lake causes waves to roll and roll on against 
the remotest outlines of the shore. It behooves us 
to cast off the shackles of opinion and walk resolutely 
before the world, guided by a well-grounded opinion 
of our own. Every man and woman ought to favor 
his age with new thoughts, new ideas, as an addition 
to the great store-house of ideas, with thoughts that 
will live though empires fall and language dies. 
Such men and women raise the world from one 
degree to another higher in the scale of civilization 
and intelligence. Such are the lives that receive the 
plaudit, *' Well done !" Such are lives virtuous, noble 
and godlike. 

No man need fear that he will exhaust his substance 
of thought, if he will only draw his inspiration from 







BENEFACTORS OR MALEFACTORS. 




513 



t'.^ 




actual human life. There the Inexhaustible God pours 
depths and endless variety of truth, and the true 
thinker is but a shorthand writer endeavoring to 
report the discourse of God. Shall a child on the 
banks of the Amazon fear lest he should drink up the 
stream ? 



^>#4-^ 





!0 



r^y 




We are all well doers or evil doers. ''None of us 
liveth to himself." We die, but leave an influence 
behind us that survives. 

The echoes of our words are evermore repeate 
and reflected along the ages. It is \vhat man w. 
that lives and acts after him. What he said sounds 
along the years like voices amid the mountain gorges ; 
and what he did is repeated after him in ever-multi- 
plying and never-ceasing reverberations. Every man 
has left behind him influences for good or for evil that 
will never exhaust themselves. The sphere In which 
he acts may be small, or It may be great. It may be 
his fireside, or it may be a kingdom ; a village, or a 
great nation ; it may be a parish, or broad Europe ; 
but act he does, ceaselessly and forever. His friends, 
his family, his successors in office, his relatives, are all 
receptive of an influence, a moral influence which he 
has transmitted and bequeathed to mankind ; either 
a blessing which will repeat itself in showers of 



^^^ 










BENEFACTORS OR MALEFACTORS. 



benedictions, or a curse which will multiply Itself In 
ever-accumulating evil. 

Every man Is a missionary, now and forever, for 
good or for evil, whether he Intend and design it, or 
not. He may be a blot, radiating his dark influence 
outward to the very circumference of society, or he 
may be a blessing, spreading benedictions over the 
length and breadth of the world ; but a blank he can- 
not be. The seed sown in life springs up in harvests 
of blessings, or harvests of sorrow. Whether our 
influence be great or small, whether it be for good or 
evil. It lasts. It lives somewhere, within some limit, 
and Is operative wherever It Is. The grave buries 
the dead dust, but the character walks the world, and 
distributes Itself, as a benediction or a curse, among 
the families of mankind. 

The san sets beyond the western hills, but the trail 
of light he leaves behind him guides the pilgrim to 
his distant home. The tree falls In the forest ; but In 
the lapse of ages It Is turned Into coal, and our fires 
burn now the brighter because It grew and fell. The 
coral insect dies, but the reef it raised breaks the 
surge on the shores of great continents, or has formed 
an Isle In the bosom of the ocean, to wave with har- 
vests for the good of man. We live and we die ; but 
the good or evil that we do lives after us, and Is 7iot 
** buried with our bones." 

The babe that perished on the bosom of its mother, 
like a flower that bowed its head and drooped amid 
the death-frosts of time — that babe, not only in Its 
image, but In Its Influence, still lives and speaks in 
the chambers of the mother's heart-- 



^11 



At 



BENEFyVCTORS OK MALEl- ACTORS. 



515 



j: 



The friend with whom we took sweet counsel is 
removed visibly from the outward eye ; but the les- 
sons that he taught, the grand sentiments that he 
uttered, the holy deeds of generosity by which he was 
characterized, the moral lineaments and likeness of 
the man, still survive and appear on the tablets of 
r^mory, and in the light of morn and noon, and dewy 
eV^r and, being dead, he yet- speaks eloquently, and 
in the midst of us. 

Mahomet still lives in his practical and disastrous 
influence in the East. Napoleon still is France, and 
France is almost Napoleon. Martin Luther's dead 
dust sleeps at Wittemburg, but Martin Luther's 
accents still ring through the churches of Christen- 
dom. Shakspeare, Byron, and Milton, all live in 
their influence, for good or evil. The apostle from 
^y:,/feis chair, the minister from his pulpit, the x-^azx^ 
from his flame-shroud, the statesman from-feis cabifr€f; 
the soldier in the field, the sailor on the deck, who all 
have passed away to their graves, still live in the 
practical deeds that they did, in the lives they lived, 
and in the powerful lessons that they left behind 
them. 

'*None of us liveth to himself;" others are affected 
by that life; "or dieth to himself;" others are inter- 
ested in that death. The queen's crown may molder. 
but she who wore it will act upon the ages which are 
yet to come. The noble's coronet may be reft in 
pieces, but the wearer of it is now doing what will be 
reflected by thousands who will be made and molded 
by him. Dignity, and rank, and riches, are all cor 



n 





-■Or- 



m^ 



ruptlble and worthless; but moral character has an 
immortality that no sword-point can destroy ; that 
ever walks the world and leaves lasting influences 
behind. 

What we do is transacted on a stage of which all 
in the universe are spectators. What we say is trans- 
mitted in echoes that will never cease. What we are 
is influencing and acting on the rest of mankind. 
Neutral we cannot be. Living we act, and dead we 
speak ; and the whole universe is the mighty company 
forever looking, forever listening ; and all nature the 
tablets forever recording the words, the deeds, the 
thoughts, the passions of mankind ! 

Monuments, and columns, and statues, erected to 
heroes, poets, orators, statesmen, are all influencej 
that extend into the future ages. The blind old man 
of Scio's rock}/ isle still speaks. The Mantuan bard 
still sings in every school. Shakspeare, the bard of 
Avon, is still translated into every tongue. The 
philosophy of the Stagyrite is still felt in every acad- 
emy. Whether these influences are beneficent or the 
reverse, they are influences fraught with power. 
How blest must be the recollection of those who, 
like the setting sun, have left a trail of light behind 
them by which others may see the way to that rest 
which remaineth for the people of God ! Since our 
earthly life is so brief, **and the night will soon come 
when the murmur and hum of our days shall be dumb 
evermore," it were well to have mile-stones by the 
way pointing to a better land. 

The yeoman, gathering treasures from the bosom 










of the earth, and thus aiding- in the sustenance of 
humanity ; the miner, delving into the deep cavern 
and bringing forth diamonds and precious stones, 
adding to the world's vast wealth ; the manufacturer, 
sending the costly fabrics through the land, and 

s^^^ufing exchange from foreign countries ; the archi- 
tect, with the proud monuments of his skill; the| 
sculptor, with hfs^elusel carving the form divine ; the 
artist, writing out in letters of abiding light the faces 
we so fondly love, and thus blessing us with the 
continued presence of not only the absent ones, but 
also those who ''are not," since God hath taken them; 
all these are truly earth's benefactors, and yet only 
the silver links in the mighty chain. 

Would we be numbered among earth's benefactors, 
and have our middle and latest life filled with richest 

. and holiest experiences, we must be ofttimes oblivious 
of self, con well the lesson contained in tlie ''Golden*'^ 
Rule," and be still further perfected in the tvv^o great 
commandments, *'on which hang all the law and the 
prophets." When all the purple and gold, the glitter 
and tinsel of our earthly life is ended, and the un- 
known and mysterious eternity is spread out to our 
immortal vision, will it not be a source of greater joy 
to us to have wiped a tear from the eye of the sor- 
rowing, to have soothed a weary pilgrim crossing the 
river of death, pointing by an eye of faith to the 
"better country," ''even a heavenly," to have plumed 
one wing for its eternal flight, than to possess a kingly 
crown, or wear fame's brightest laurels ? 

It is only the pure fountain that brings forth pure 






r 



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-■-3 ;! 








518 



water. The g-ood tree only will produce the ,^ood 
fruit. If the centre from which all proceeds be pure 
and holy, the radii of influence from it will be pure 
and holy also. Go forth, then, into the spheres that 
you occupy, the employments, the trades, the profes- 
sions of social life ; go forth into the high places, or 
into the lowly places of the land ; mix with the roar- 
ing cataracts of social convulsions, or mingle amid 
the eddies and streamlets of quiet and domestic life ; 
whatever sphere you fill, carry into it a holy heart, 
you will radiate around you life and power, and leave 
behind you holy and beneficent influences. 



.^4 









k' #"' 



Stars shine brightest in the darkest night ; torches 
are the better for beating ; grapes come not to the 
proof till they come to the press ; spices smell sweet- 
est when pounded ; young trees root the faster for 
shaking; vines are the better for bleeding; gold looks 
the brighter for scouring ; glow-worms glisten best in 
the dark; juniper smells sweetest in the fire; poman- 
der becomes most fragrant for chasing ; the palm-tree 
proves the better for pressing ; camomile, the more 
you tread it, the more you spread it. Such is the 
condition of men ; they are the most triumphant when 
most tempted ; as their conflicts, so their conquests ; 
as their tribulations, so their triumphs. True sala- 



(lllM,, 





519 

manders live best in the furnace of persecution ; so 
that heavy afflictions are the best benefactors to heav- 
enly affections. And where afflictions hang heaviest, 
corruptions hang loosest; and grace that is hid in 
nature, as sweet water in rose-leaves, is then most 
fragrant when the fire of affliction is put under to 
distil Tt out. 

o you wish to live without a trial ? Then you 
^'die but half a man — at the best but half a 
Without trial you cannot guess at your own 
strength. Men do not learn to swim on a table. 
They must go into deep water and buffet the surges. 
A certain amount of opposition is a great help to a 
man. Kites rise against the wind, and not with the 
wind; even a head wind is better than none. No 
man ever worked his passage any where in a calm. 
Let no man wax pale, therefore, because of op0^- .^ 

opposition is what he wants and must h^e, to 
be good for any thing. Hardship is the native soil of "^ 
manhood and self-reliance. 

An acorn is not an oak tree when it is sprouted. 
It must go through long summers and fierce winters ; 
it has to endure all that frost, and snow, and thunder, 
and storm, and side-striking winds can bring, before 
it is a full-grown oak. These are rough teachers ; 
but rugged schoolmasters make rugged pupils. So a 
man is not a man when he is created; he is only 
begun. His manhood must come with years. A man 
who goes through life prosperous, and comes to his 
grave without a wrinkle is not half a man. In time of 
war, whom does the general select for some hazardous 




/ 



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I 



// 



enterprise? He looks over his men, and choose^ 
the soldiers whom he knows will not flinch at dan^s^er, 
but will go bravely through whatever is allotted to 
him. He calls him that he may receive his orders, 
and the officer, blushing with pleasure to be thus 
chosen, hastens away to execute them. Difficulties 
are God's errands. And when we are sent upon them 
we should esteem it a proof of God's confidence — as 
a compliment from God. The traveler who goes 
round the world prepares himself to pass through all 
latitudes, and to meet all changes. So man must be 
willing to take life as it comes ; to mount the hill 
when the hill swells, and to go down the hill when 
the hill lowers ; to walk the plain when it stretches 
before him, and to ford the river when it rolls over 
the plain. "I can do all things through Christ which 
strengtheneth me." 

The best of people will now and then meet with 
disappointments, for they are inherited by mortality. 
It is, however, the better philosophy to take things 
calmly and endeavor to be content with our lot. We 
may at least add some rays of sunshine to our path, 
if we earnestly endeavor to dispel the clouds of dis- 
content that may arise in our bosoms. And by so 
doing, we the more fully enjoy the bountiful blessing 
that God gives to his humblest creatures. 

It is far more noble to improve each hour in a Vi- 
vating the mind, and attuning it to the glory of the 
Creator. For this end it matters not so much whether 
we spend our time in study or toil ; the thoughts of 
the mind should go out and reach after the higher 






r^S V 






good. In this manner we may improve ourselves till 
our thoughts come to be sweet companions that shall 
lead us along the path of virtue. Thus we may grow 
better within, whilst the cares of life, the crosses and 
losses and disappointments lose their sharp thorns, 
ajicLthe journey of life be made comparatively pleasant 
andiiappy. 

Much material good must be resigned if we woul 
attain to the highest degree of moral excellence, and 
manyi^spiritual joys must be foregone if we resolve at 
all risks to win great material advantages. To strive 
for a high professional position, and yet expect to 
have all the delights of leisure ; to labor for vast 
riches, and yet to ask for freedom from anxiety and 
care, and all the happiness which flows from a con- 
tented mind; to indulge in sensual gratification, and 
yjgt demand health, strength, and vigor ; to live for self,^ 
and yet to look for the joys that spring from a virtu- 
ous and self-denying life, is to ask for impossibilities. 

God knows what keys in the human soul to touch 
in order to draw out its sweeter and most perfect 
harmonies*. They may be the minor strains of sad- 
ness and sorrow; they may be the loftier notes of 
joy and gladness. God knows where the melodies 
of our natures are, and what discipline will bring 
them forth. Some with plaintive tongues must walk 
in lowly vales of life's weary way, others, in loftier 
hymns, sing of nothing but joy, as they tread the 
mountain-tops of life ; but they all unite without dis- 
cord or jar as the ascending anthem of loving and 
believing hearts finds its way into the chorus of the 
redeemed heaven. 





1 



n 



iklltl^^^. 



Sickness brings a share of blessings with it. What 
stores of human love and sympathy it reveals. What 
constant affectionate care is ours. What kindly 
greetings from friends and associates. This very 
loosening of our hold upon life calls out such wealth 
of human sympathy that life seems richer than before. 
Then it teaches humility. Our absence is scarcely 
felt or noticed. From the noisy, wrestling world 
without we are separated completely, as if the moss 
was on our tombstones ; yet our place is filled and all 
moves on without us. So we learn that when at last 
we shall sink forever beneath the waves of the sea of 
life, there will be but one ripple and the current will 
move steadily on. On the sick-bed the sober truth 
^.omes home with startling emphasis : 

" The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
His fravoite phantom." 



M 



B 



We cannot too soon convince ourselves how easily 
we may be dispensed with in the world. What im- 
portant personages we imagine ourselves to be ! We 
think that we alone are the life of the circle In which 
we move ; in our absence we fancy that life, existence 
and breath will come to a general pause ; and alas 1 
the gap which we leave is scarcely perceptible, so 
quickly is it filled again ; nay, it is often but the place. 





ra 



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if not for something better, at least for something 
more agreeable. 

When sickness has drawn a veil over the gayety of 
our hearts, or adversity eclipsed the splendor of our 
outward circumstances ; when some intervening cloud 
has darkened the pleasing scenes of life, or disap- 
pointments opened our eyes ; then vice loses her 
fallacious allurements and the world appears as an 
empty, delusive cheat ; then Jesus and the Gospel 
beam forth with inimitable lustre, and Christian virtue 
gains loveliness from such lowering providences, and 
treads the shades with more than mortal charms. 
May this reconcile all the sons of sorrow to their 
appointed share of sufferings. If tribulations tend 
to refine the soul and prepare it for glory, welcome 
distress, or whatever our peevish passions may mls- 
jp^ll calamities. These are not judgments or 4^^is | 
'oi displeasure to God's children, but nece5,s^ry "^ati 
salutary chastisements, as well as tokens of his 
parental concern for our spiritual and eternal welfare. 
Afflictions should, therefore, sit easy upon us, since 
they increase our knowledge and humility, promote 
our faith and love, and work out for us a far more 
exceeding and eternal weight of glory. 

Sickness scours us of our rust, and however the 
wicked, like trees in the wilderness, grow without 
culture, yet the saints, like trees in the garden, must 
be pruned to be made fruitful, and sickness does this. 
God will prune His people, but not hew them down ; 
th^ right hand of His mercy knows what the left hand 
of Hiis severity is doing. There is as much difference 



WL 







between the sufferings of the saints and those of the 
ungodly, as between the cords with which an execu- 
tioner pinions a condemned malefactor, and the band 
ages wherewith a tender surgeon binds his patient. 

Sickness and disease are, in weak minds, the 
sources of melancholy ; but that which is painful to. 
the body may be profitable to the soul. Sickness, the 
mother of modesty, puts us in mind of our mortality, 
and while we drive on heedlessly in the full career 
of worldly pomp and jollity, kindly pulls us by the 
ear, and brings us to a proper sense of our duty. 

A minister was recovering of a dangerous Illness, 
when one of his friends addressed him thus: **Sir, 
though God seems to be bringing you up from the 
gates of death, yet it will be a long time before you 
will sufficiently retrieve your strength and regain 
vigor enough of mind to preach as usual." The good 
man answered: *'You are mistaken, my friend; for 
this six weeks' illness has taught me more divinity 
than all my past studies and all my ten years' ministry 
put together." 

Dr. Payson being ill, a friend coming into his room 
remarked, in a familiar way: '^Well, I am sorry to 
see you lying here on your back." ''Do you know 
what God puts us on our backs for?" asked Dr. Pay- 
son, smiling. *'No," was the answer. ''In order 
that we may look upward." His friend said to him, 
"I am not come to condole but to rejoice with you, 
for it seems to me that this is no time for mourning." 
"Well, I am glad to hear that," was the reply, "it is 
not often that I am addressed in such a way. The 




<:\ 



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^-^WI&-^::^~' 




TEARS. 



525 




tact is I never had less need of condolence, and yet 
everybody persists in offering it; whereas, when I 
was prosperous and well, and a successful preacher, 
and really needed condolence, they flattered and con- 
gratulated me." Whom the Lord loveth He chas- 

/tenethj and if we endure chastening, God dealeth 

'with us as with sons and daughters. 




-^m-'^' 






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There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the 
mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more 
eloquence than ten thousand tongues. They are the 
messages of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, 
of unspeakable love. If there were wanting any 
argument to prove that man is not mortal, I would 
look for it in the strong convulsive emotions of the 
breast, when the soul has been deeply agitated ; w^hen 
the fountains of feeling are rising, and when tears are 
gushing forth in crystal streams. O, speak not harshly 
of the stricken one — weeping in silence! Break not 
the solemnity by rude laughter, or intrusive footsteps. 
Despise not woman's tears — they are what make her 
an angel. Scoff not if the stern heart of manhood is 
sometimes melted to sympathy — they are what help 
to elevate him above the brute. We love to see tears 
of affection. They are painful tokens, but still most 
holy. There is pleasure in tears — an awful pleasure. 
If there were none on earth to shed a tear for us, we 





7^ 



TEARS. 



should be loth to live ; and If no one might weep over 
our grave, we could never die in peace. 

Genuine tears are the involuntary and faithful ex- 
pressions of the soul. The soul's sorrow or joy — 
for joy weeps — guilt or innocence — for insulted vir- 
tue has its tears — glistens in the pearly drop. Tears 
relieve the soul ; they are prevailing orators ; they 
win triumphs which neither the infernal sword, nor 
divine speech could ever achieve. A trite tear is 
electric to the true. A tear dropped in the silence of 
a sick chamber often rings in heaven with a sound 
which belongs not to earthly trumpets or bells. 

Tears generally tremble in our eyes when we are 
happy, and glisten like pearls, or dew-drops on the 
flower cup ; but when we first realize any overwhelm- 
ing and unlooked for happiness, we gaze round with 
a smile of bewildered ecstacy, and no tears tremble 
in our eyes. The extremes of joy and sorrow^ are 
too great, too deep for tears. 

Tender, holy and sanctifying are human tears — 
crystals of affection and pity — jewels of the soul. 
One trickled on the cheek of a child. It had been 
crossed in the fulfillment of some anticipation, and 
from a grieved heart gushed up the sympathizing tear. 
Another trembled from the eyelid of youth. He had 
felt the touch of a bitter reproof, or of disappointed 
love, and to soften his brain and sorrow came thti 
same beautiful tear. 

O, ye tears ! what a mission have ye v/rought in 
our sorrowing world ! How tenderly worshiped on 
the altars of pity and sincere love — how gloriously 



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TEARS. 



527 



sanctified repentance and grief! Down In the damp 
cell where the martyr rattles his chains ; in the dun- 
geon where the patriot waits for the block — ye have 
performed, O tears ! the same blessed work. Even 
to joy ye have been a balm of oil — a refiners fire. 
When the Macedonian passed the pillar of Hercules, 
h^ was conquered by tears — the same tears that 
^^ppfang but now, like dew-drops, from the lashes of 
'{ yon blue-eyed child. For what different ends, and 
yet unchanged, have ye wrought. Every moment 
mellowing and calming some sad, worn heart — aye, 
every day doing some mission for each of our souls. 
Ye have gushed over battle-fields and over festive 
halls ; around the bier and the board ; and deeper, 
holier, have been our loves and our friendliness with 
each return of your hallowed feet — aye, feeU for 
iars have feet, and they come treading i^p ^e sotij 
Yike so many angels, offering sacrifices tllFough our 
«yes. 

Repress them not, child — they are a purifying vent 
to thy young heart. Repress them not, O youth — 
they are good and holy for thee. Repress them not. 
mother — for unto thee God has given them to be a 
comforter in the lone and bitter hour. And thou, 
manhood, quench not the fountain whose upheaving 
}s the most beautiful manifestation of thy spiritual life. 
Tears, beautiful, blessed tears, be ever with every 
reader — with us all; our token when we sigh for the 
absent, or weep for the lost — a sacred witness that 
©ur regrets and sorrows are sincere. 

It is a striking fact that the dying never weep. 




u 




The sobbing, the heart-breaking agony of the circle 
of friends around the death-bed, calls forth no 
responsive tears from the dying. Is it because he is 
insensible, and stiff in the chill of dissolution ? That 
cannot be, for he asks for his father's hand, as if to 
gain strength in the mortal struggle, and leans on the 
breast of his mother, sister or brother, in still con- 
scious affection. Just before expiring, he calls the 
loved ones, and with quivering lips says : " Kiss me," 
showing that the love which he has borne in his heart 
is still fresh and warm. It must be because the dying 
have reached a point too deep for earthly sorrows, 
too transcendent for weeping. They are face to face 
with higher and holier things, with the Father in 
Heaven and His Angels. There is no weeping 
m that blessed abode to which the dying man is 
hastening. 



Give Sorrow words : the grief, that does not speak, 
Whispers the o'erfraught Heart, and bids it break. 

— Shakspeare. 






(2 






t 



/-' 



He who tastes only the bitter in the cup of life, 
who looks only at the clouds which lower in one 
quarter of the heavens, w^hile the sun is shining 
cheerily in another, who persists in pricking and 
scratching himself with the thorn, and refuses to 
enjoy the fragrance of the rose, is an ingrate to God 
and a torment to himself. 




T 



s(jKja)\v. 529 

The record of human life is far more melancholy 
than its course ; the hours of quiet enjoyment are not 
noted ; the thousand graces and happiness of social ' 

liie, the loveliness of nature meeting us at every step, 
the buoyancy of spirit resulting from health and pure ,/ 

air, the bright sun, the starry firmament — all that 
cheers man on his road through his probationary 
state, that warms the heart and makes life pleasant — ^^^j' 
is omitted in the narrative, which can only deal with u'' 

facts ; and we read of disappointment, and sickness, 
and death, and exclaim, ''Why is man born to sor- 
row?" He is not so. \. 

Sorrows are only tempest clouds : when afar off^ ^4 

they look black, but when above us scarcely gray. ^^, 

Sorrow is the night of the mind. What would be a '^^ 

day without its night? The day reveals one sun 
only ; the night brings to light the whole of the uni- 
verse. The analogy is complete. Sorrow is the M.^^^ 
firmament of thought and the school of intelligence. 
Men that are wise, as the bees draw honey from the 
thyme, which is a most unsavory and dry herb, extract 
something that is convenient and useful even from 
the most bitter afflictions. /'^ 

Great undertakings require the Christian's faith to 
endure the deep and overwhelming experiences ol 
human sorrow without relinquishing their cherished 
life-work. The world in its bitterest forms of oppres 
sion spent itself upon Tasso, Dante, and Milton, Iw 
vain. Redeemed, exalted, purified, they came forth 
from the abyss of anguish, and sang to their fellows 
U song which those who have never suffered, could 

34 .a 




in 



never utter. Alas ! how many richly freighted souls 
have sunk in the angry billows that came rushing in 
their furious strength only to bend beneath these 
master-spirits and bear them up to immortality. 
Sweetest of all songs are the Psalms in the night. 
David sang with the most touching tenderness when 
in the gloom of deepest affliction. The heart may 
wail a miserere over its dead or its dying, but even 
that will be sadly sweet, and will have a hope in it. 
The saddest song is better than none, because it is a 
song. 

Sorrow is one of God's own angels in the land. 
Her pruning-knife may not spare the tender buds oi 
hope that make glad the garden of the soul, but her 
fingers sow the seeds of a quick sympathy with the 
woes of a common humanity, which, springing into 
leaf, and bud, and blossom, send perfume and beauty 
into the waste places of lonely lives, and permeate 
with fragrant incense the soil that gave them birth. 

The simplest and most obvious use of sorrow is to 
remind us of God. It would seem that a certain shock 
is needed to bring us in contact with reality. We are 
not conscious of breathing till obstruction makes it 
felt. We are not aware of the possession of a heart 
till some disease, some sudden joy or sorrow, rouses 
it into extraordinary action. And we are not conscious 
of the mighty cravings of our half divine humanity ; 
we are not aware of the God within us till some chasm 
yawns which must be filled, or till the rending asu.i- 
der of our affections forces us to become fearfully 
conscious of a need. 






4 






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SORROW. 

To mourn without measure, Is folly ; not to mourn 
at all, is insensibility. God says to the fruit tree, 
bloom and bear ; and to the human heart, bear and 
bloom — the soul's great blossoming is the flower of 
suffering. As the sun converts clouds into a glorious 
drapery, firing them with gorgeous hues, and draping 
the whole horizon with its glorious costume, and 
^,j writing victory in fiery colors along the vanquished 
'f-"^ front of every cloud, so sometimes a radiant heart 
lets forth its hope upon its sorrow and all the black- 
ness flies, and troubles that trooped to appal seem to 
crowd around as a triumphal procession following the 
steps of a victor. 

There are people who think that to be grim is to 
be good, and that a thought, to be really wholesome, 
must necessarily be shaped like a coffin. They 
eem to think that black is the color of heaven, and 
-"^hat the more they can make their faces look like 
midnight, the holier they are. 

The days of darkness come, and they are many, 
but our eye takes in only the first. One wave hides 
another, and the effort to encounter the foremost with- 
draws our thought from evils which are pressing on. 
If we could see them all at once we might lie down, 
like Elijah, under the juniper tree, and say, ''It is 
enough — let me not live !" But patience attains her 
perfect work while trials unfold. The capacity of 
sorrow belongs to our grandeur ; and the loftiest of 
our race are those who have had the profoundest 
grief, because they have had the profoundest sym- 
pathies. 





532 



SORROW. 



Sorrow comes soon enough without despondency; 
it does a man no good to carry around a lightning- 
rod to attract trouble. When a gloom falls upon us, 
it may be we have entered into the cloud that will 
give its gentle showers to refresh and strengthen us. 
Heavy burdens of sorrow seem like a stone hung 
round our neck, yet they are often only like the stone 
used by pearl divers, which enables them to reach 
the prize and rise enriched. 

There are sorrows too sacred to be babbled to the 
world, and there may be loves which one would 
forbear to whisper even to a friend. Real sorrow is 
not clamorous. It seeks to shun every eye, and 
breathes in solitude and silence the sighs that come 
from the heart. Every heart has its secret sorrow, 
which the world knows not ; and oftentimes we call a 
man cold when he is only sad. Give not thy mind to 
heaviness ; the gladness of the heart is the life of 
man, and joyfulness of a man prolongeth his days. 
Remove sorrow far from thee, for sorrow hath killed 
many, and there is no profit therein ; and carefulness 
bringeth age before the time. 

We are inclined to think that the causes of our 
sorrows are sent to us from above ; often we weep, 
we groan In our spirits, and we murmur against God; , 
but he leaves us to our sorrow, and we are saved ; 
our present grief saves from an eternal sorrow. It 
would be well, however, if we attempted to trace the 
cause of them ; we should probably find their origin 
in some region of the heart which we never had well 
explored, or in which we had secretly deposited our 




I 



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-"^1 



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(CI 



f^ 



worst indulgences. The clouds that intercept the 
heavens from us, come not from the heavens, but 
from the earth. Excess of sorrow is as foolish as 
continued laughter. Loud mirth, or immoderate sor- 
row, inequality of behavior, either in prosperity or 
adversity are alike ungraceful in man who is born to 
die. Some are refined, like gold, in the furnace ; 
others, like chaff, are consumed in it. Sorrow, when 
it is excessive, takes away fervor from piety, vigor 
from action, health from body, light from reason, and 
repose from the conscience. 

Those who work hard seldom yield themselves 
entirely up to fancied or real sorrow. When grief sits 
down, folds its hands and mournfully feeds upon its 
own tears, weaving the dim shadows, that a little 
exertion might sweep away into a funeral pall, the 
strong spirit is shorn of its might, and sorrow be- 
comes our master. When troubles flow upon you, 
dark and heavy, toil not with the waves ; wrestle not 
with the torrent ; rather seek, by occupation, to 
divert the dark waters that threaten to overwhelm 
you, into a thousand channels which the duties of 
life always present. Before you dream of it, those 
waters will fertilize the present, and gic^e birth to 
fresh flowers that may brighten the future — flowers 
that will become pure and holy, in the sunshine which 
penetrates to the path of duty, in spite of every 
obstacle. Grief, after all, is but a selfish feeling ; and 
most selfish is the man who yields himself to the 
indulgence of any passion which brings no joy to his 
fellow man. 





m 





They are the true kings and queens, heroes and 
heroines, who, folding a pall of tenderest memory 
over the faces of their own lost hopes and perished 
loves, go with unfaltering courage, to grapple with 
the future, to strengthen the weak, to comfort the 
weary, to hang sweet pictures of faith and trust in 
the silent galleries of sunless lives, and to point the 
desolate, whose paths wind ever among shadows and 
over rocks where never the green moss grows, to the 
golden heights of the hereafter, where the palms of 
victory wave. 

Difficulties are things that show what men are. In 
case of any difficulty, remember that God, like a 
gymnastic trainer, has pitted you against a rough 
antagonist. For what end ? That you may be a.. 
Olympic conqueror, and this cannot be without toil. 
He who has great affliction is made of sterner stuff 
than most men. God seems to have selected him, 
like second growth timber, for important work. It is 
not every one that can be trusted to suffer greatly. 
God has confidence in him to the extent of the 
affliction. 

Causeless depression is not to be reasoned with, 
nor can David's harp charm it away, by sweet dis- 
coursings. As well fight with the mist as with this 
shapeless, undefinable, yet all-beclouding hopeless- 
ness. If those who laugh at such melancholy did 
but feel the grief of it for one hour, their laughter 
would be sobered into compassion. Resolution 
might, perhaps, shake it off, but where are we to 
find the resolution, when the whole man is unstrung? 






m 

If 



'A 






^F 



:n 



i} 







SORROWING FOR THE DEAD. 535 

It Is a poor relief for sorrow to fly to the distrac- 
tions of the world ; as well might a lost and wearied 
bird, suspended over the abyss of the tempestuous 
ocean, seek a resting place on its heaving waves, as 
the child of trouble seek a place of repose amid the 
bustling cares and intoxicating pleasures of earth and 
time. Christ is a refuge and '*a very present help 
il^ trouble." 



^i^-^-i^ 




Our friends may die and leave our hearts and homes 
desolate for a time ; w^e cannot prevent it, nor would 
it;, be best if we could. Sorrow has its useful Lesso^ 
'when it Is legitimate, and death is the gatQjbksit^peftT 
out of earth toward the house ''eternal in the heav- 
ens." If we lose them, heaven gains them. If we 
mourn, they rejoice. If we hang our harps on the 
willows, they tune theirs in the eternal orchestra above, 
rejoicing that we shall soon be with them. Shall we 
not drown our sorrow in the flood of light let through 
the rent veil of the skies which Jesus entered, and, 
to cure our loneliness, gather to us other friends to 
walk life's way, knowing that every step brings us 
nearer the departed, and their sweet, eternal home, 
which death never enters, and where partings are 
never known ? We may still love the departed. 
They are ours as ever, and we are theirs. The ties 





^'-'3 



536 SORROWING FOR THE DEAD. 

that unite us are not broken. They are too strong 
for death's stroke. They are made for the joys of 
eternal friendship. Other friendships on earth will 
not disturb these bonds that link with dear ones on 
high. Nor will our duties below interfere with the 
sacredness of our relations with them. They wish | 

not to see us in sorrow. They doubtless sympathize j 

with us, and could we hear their sweet voices, they 1 

would tell us to dry our tears and bind ourselves to 
other friends, and joyfully perform all duties on earth 
till our time to ascend shall come. 

''The sorrow for the dead," says Irving, ''is the 
only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. 
Every other wound we seek to heal, every other 
affliction to forget; but this wound we consider it a 
duty to keep open ; this affliction we cherish and 
brood over in solitude. 

"Where is the mother who would willingly forget 
the infant that perished like a blossom from her arms, 
though every recollection is a pang ? Where is the 
child that would willingly forget the most tender of 
parents, though to remember be but to lament ? Who, 
even in the hour of agony, would forget the friend 
over whom he mourns ? Who, even when the tomb 
is closing upon the remains of her he most loved, 
when he feels his heart, as it were, crushed in the 
closing of its portal, would accept of consolation that 
must be bought by forgetfulness? 

"No, the love which survives the tomb is one of 
the noblest attributes of the soul. If it hac its woes, 
it has likewise its delights ; and when the o^ tirwhelm- 




w 



SORROWING FOR THE DEAD. 537 

ing burse of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of 
recollection, when the sudden anguish and the con- 
vulsive agony over the ruins of all that we most loved 
is softened away into pensive meditation on all that 
it was in the days of its loveliness, who would root 
out such a sorrow from the heart? 

''Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud 
over the bright ^fiour of gayety, or spread a deeper 
sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who would 
exchange it even for the song of pleasure or the burst 
of revelry? No, there is a voice from the tomb 
sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the 
dead to which Vv^e turn even from the charms of the ^/ 

living. 

" Oh, the grave ! the grave ! It buries every error, 
covers every defect, extinguishes every resentment. ,' 

From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets 
and tender recollections. Who can look upon the 
grave even of an enemy and not feel a compunctious y 

throb that he should ever have warred with the poor h'^^ \ 
handful of earth that lies moldering before him ? ^ "^ 

''But the grave of those we loved, what a place 
for meditation! There it is that we call up in long (/^' 

review the whole history of virtue and gentleness, ^-; 

and the thousand endearments lavished upon us ; 

almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy. 
There it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the ;vV 

solemn, awful tenderness of the parting scene. ;•; 

"The bed of death, with all its stifled griefs, its \ * 

noiseless attendants, its mute, watchful assiduities. ; 

the last testimonies of expiring love, the feeble, 



( ^^.. -"^y^^r^- 



:z^/*'i^ *,ii*^' 



Im^ 




538 



SORROWING FOR THE DEAD. 




flutterlno-, thrilling-, oh, how thrilling ! pressure of the 
hand. The last fond look of the glazing eye, turn- 
ing upon us even from the threshold of existence. 
The faint, faltering accents struggling in death to 
give one more assurance of affection. Ay, go to the 
grave of buried love, and meditate ! There settle 
the account with thy conscience for every past benefit 
unrequited, every past endearment unregarded, of 
that departed being who can never — never — never 
return to be soothed by thy contrition ! 

*'If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow 
to the soul or a furrow to the silver brow of an affec- 
tionate parent ; if thou art a husband, and hast ever 
caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole 
happiness in thy arms, to doubt one moment of thy 
kindness or thy truth ; if thou art a friend, and hast 
ever wronged, in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit 
that generously confided in thee ; if thou art a lover, 
and hast given one unmerited pang to that true heart 
which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet, then 
be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious 
word, every ungentle action, will come thronging 
back upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at thy 
soul ; then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing 
and repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard 
groan, and pour the unavailing tear, more deep, more 
bitter, because unheard and unavailing. 

''Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the 
beauties of nature about the grave; console thy 
broken spirit, if thou canst, with these tender, yet 
futile tributes of regret; but take warning by the 






|(i,i... 



t 



ym 



m 



ADVERSITY, 



539 




bitterness of this thy contrite affliction over the dead, 
and henceforth be more faithful and affectionate in 
the discharge of thy duties to the hving." 



Jt^ersilg^ 




-/ 



1 



The good are better made by ill :- 
As odors crush'd are sweeter still ! 

— Rogers. 



The harp holds in its wires the possibilities of 
noblest chords ; yet, if they be not struck, they must 
hang dull and useless. So the mind is vested with a 
hundred powers, that must be smitten by a heavy 
hand to prove thenselves the offspring of divinity. 

Welcome, then, adversity ! Thy hand is cold and 
hard, but it is the hand of a friend ! Thy voice *' 
stern and harsh, but it is the voice of a friend ! 
There is something sublime in the resolute, fixed 
purpose of suffering without complaining, which 
makes disappointment often better than success. 

As full ears load and lay corn, so does too much 
fortune bend and break the mind. It deserves to be 
considered, too, as another advantage, that affliction 
moves pity, and reconciles our very enemies ; but 
prosperity provokes envy, and loses us our very 
friends. Again, adversity is a desolate and aban- 
doned state ; the generality of people are like those 
infamous animals that live only upon plenty and 
rapine ; and as rats and mice forsake a tottering 



ADVERSITY. 



^ 



house, so do these the falling man. He that has 
never known adversity is but half acquainted with 
others or with himself Constant success shows us 
but one side of the world; for as it surrounds us 
with friends who tell us only of our merits, so it 
silences those enemies from whom only we can learn 
our defects. 



aSi^. 



r- 1—' * V 



L^T 



^i 



,'i 



Adversity, sage, useful guest, 
Severe instructor, but the best ; 
It is from thee alone we know 
Justly to value things below. 

Adversity exasperates fools, dejects cowards, draws 
out the faculties of the wise and Industrious, puts the 
modest to the necessity of trying their skill, awes the 
opulent, and makes the idle industrious. A smooth 
sea never made a skillful mariner, neither do uninter- 
rupted prosperity and success qualify men for useful- 
ness and happiness. The storms of adversity, like 
those of the ocean, rouse the faculties, and excite the 
invention, prudence, skill, and fortitude of the voyager. 
The martyrs of ancient times, In bracing their minds 
to outward calamities, acquired a loftiness of purpose 
and a moral heroism worth a lifetime of softness and 
security. 

It is good for man that he bear the yoke in his youth. 
Oaks are made hard by strong discipline. As a glad^ 
iator trained the body, so must we train the mind to 
self-sacrifice, ''to endure all things," to meet and 
overcome difficulty and danger. We must take the 
rough and thorny roads as well as the smooth and 
pleasant; and a portion at least of our daily duty 



^' 



li 



te; 



\.l 



■if^Mii 




i^ 




/I 



k.. 



.^-^V 




.^ *^"\ 



ADVERSITY. 





must be hard and disagreeable ; for the mind cannot 
be kept strong- and healthy in perpetual sunshine only, 
and the most dangerous of all states is that of con- 
stantly recurring pleasure, ease and prosperity. 

It seems as if man were like the earth. It cannot 
bask forever in sunshine. The snows of winter and 
frosts must come and work in the ground and mellow . f 
it to make them fruitful. A man upon whom contin- 
uous sunshine falls is like the earth in August ; he 
becomes parched and dry, and hard and close-grained. 
To some men the winter and spring come when they 
are young; others are born in summer and are only 
made fit to die by a winter of sorrow coming to them 
when they are middle-aged or old. 

I-, is not the nursling of wealth or fortune who has 
been dandled into manhood on the lap of prosperity, 
that carries away the world's honors, or wins itsT$ 
mightiest influence; but it is rather the man whose ^'^^-^^-^.^ 
earlier years were cheered by scarcely a single proffer 
of aid, or smile of approbation, and who has drawn 
from adversity the elements of greatness. The 
''talent" which prosperity ''folded in a napkin," the 
rough hand of adversity shook out. 

The men who stand boldly for the defense of the 
truth, in the midst of the flood of errors that surround 
them, are not the gentlemen of lily fingers who have 
been rocked in the cradle of indulgence and caressed 
in the lap of luxury ; but they are the men whom 
necessity has called from the shade of retirement to 
contend under the scorching rays of the sun, with 
the stern realities of life with all its vicissitudes. It 



'\/ 





542 



ADVERSITY. 



r^7 



is good for a man that he bear the yoke In his youtl\ , 
The gem cannot be poKshed without friction, nor mavi 
perfected without adversity. 

The patient conquest of difficulties which rise in 
the regular and legitimate channels of business and 
enterprise, is noi only essential in securing the suc- 
cesses which you seek, but it is essential to the pre- 
paration of your mind requisite for the enjoyment of 
your successes and for retaining them when gained. 

Adversity is the trial of principle. Without it a 
man hardly knows whether he be honest or not. 
Night brings out the stars as adversity shows us 
truths ; we never see the stars till we can see little or 
naught else ; and thus it Is with truth. When you 
feel inclined to cry, just change your mind and laugh. 
Nothing dries sooner than tears. 

Adversity certainly has Its uses, and very valuable 
ones too. It has been truly remarked that many a 
man, In losing his fortune, has found himself Ad- 
versity flattereth no man. Oft from apparent ills our 
blessings rise. Who never fasts, no banquet e'er 
enjoys. In prosperity, be humble ; in adversity, 
cheerful. If you have the blues, go and see the 
poorest and sickest families within your knowledge. 
To bear the sharp afflictions of life like men, we 
should also feel them like men. The darker the 
setting, the brighter the diamond. Probably we 
might often become reconciled to what we consider a 
hard lot by comparing ourselves with the many who 
want what we possess rather than with the few who 
possess what we want. He is happy whose circum- 







y^A 



m 



k 




DEBT 



54a 




stances suit his temper ; but he is happier who can 
suit his temper to his circumstances. There is a 
virtue in keeping- up appearances. He is a fool that 
grumbles at ever)^ little mischance. Put the best 
foot forward, is an old and good maxim. Don't run 
about and tell acquaintances that you have been 
unfortunate ; people do not like to have unfortunate 
jlen for acquaintances. If the storm of adversity 
whistles around you, whistle as bravely yourself; per- 
haps the two whistles may make melody. 



v^ 



( 



p 



While you are generous, see to it that you are 
^so just. Do not give away what does not belong 
^to you. Let us warn you, on account of its moral 
bearings, against debt. Nothing more effectually 
robs one of his best energies, takes the bloom from 
his cheek and peace from his pillow, than pecuniary 
obligations. And that is not all, nor the worst ; debt 
is a foe to a man's honesty. Avoid all meanness ; 
but shun as a pestilence the habit of running thought- 
lessly into debt. Let your expenses be alwa3^s short 
of your income. 

''Of what a hideous progeny of ill," says Douglas 
Jerrold, ''is debt the father! What meanness, what, 
invasions of self-respect, what cares, what double- 
dealing ! How in due season it will carve the frank, 
open face into wrinkles ; how like a knife it will stat 



DEI]]- 



"!l 



c 



^■r4:^ 



L.^ 



the honest heart. And then Its transformations. 
How it has been known to change a goodly face Into 
a mask of brass; how with the evil custom of debt 
has the true man become a callous trickster ! A free^ 
dom from debt, and what nourishing sweetness may 
be found in cold water ; what toothsomeness In a dry 
crust; what ambrosial nourishment in a hard ^gg\ 
Be sure of it, he who dines out of debt, though his 
meal be a biscuit and an onion, dines in a banquet 
hall. And then, for raiment, what warmth in a thread- 
bare coat, if the tailor's receipt be in your pocket ! 
What Tyrian purple in the faded w^aistcoat, the vest 
not owed for; how glossy the well worn hat, if it 
covers not the aching head of a debtor ! Next the 
home sweets, the out-door recreation of the free man. 
The street door falls not a knell on his heart; the 
foot of the staircase, though he lives on the third 
pair, sends no spasms through his anatomy ; at the 
rap of his door he can crow 'come in,' and his pulse 
still beats healthfully, his heart sinks not in his bowels. 
See him abroad ! How he returns look for look with 
any passenger ; how he saunters ; now meeting an 
acquaintance, he stands and gossips, but then this 
man knows no debt ; debt that casts a drug in the 
richest wine; that makes the food of the gods un^ 
wholesome, indigestible ; that sprinkles the banquets 
of a Lucullus with ashes, and drops soot in the soup 
of an emperor; debt that like the moth, makes val- 
ueless furs and velvets, inclosing the wearer in a 
festering prison, (the shirt of Nessus was a shirt not 
paid for;) debt that writes upon frescoed halls the 




») 




handwriting of the attorney ; that puts a voice of 
terror in the knocker ; that makes the heart quake 
at the haunted fireside ; debt, the invisible demon 
that walks abroad with a man, now quickening his 
steps, now making him look on all sides like a hunted 
^^Skr^)t)^^st, and now bringing to his face the ashy hue of 
S^ath as the unconscious passenger looks glanci^g^-^ 
^iM^ §*€t^erty is a bitter draught, yet may, 
and sqfWetimes can, with advantage, be gulped down. 
Though the drinker makes wry faces, there may, 
after all, be a wholesome goodness in the cup. But 
debt, however courteously it may be offered, is the 
cup of the siren ; and the wine, spiced and delicious 
though it be, is poison. The man out of debt, though 
with a flaw in his jerkin, a crack in his shoe leather, 
and a hole in his hat, is still the son of liberty, free as 
'Hhe singing lark above him; but the debtor, although 
clothed in the utmost bravery, what is he bilt a sei*f 
out upon a holiday — a slave to be reclaimed at any 
instant by his owner, the creditor? My son, if poor, 
see Hyson in the running spring; see thy mouth 
water at a last week's roll ; think a threadbare coat 
the only wear; and acknowledge a whitewashed 
garret the fittest housing place for a gentleman ; do 
tnis, and flee debt. So shall thy heart be at rest and 
tne sheriff confounded." 

Somebody truly says that one debt begets another. 
If a man owes you a dollar, he is sure to owe you a 
grudge, too, and he is generally more ready to pay 
interest on the latter than on the former. Contract- 
ing debts is not unlike the man who goes to sea without 









I 



]t:M 





DEBT 



a compass — he may steer clear of rocks, sand-bars, 
a lee shore, and breakers, but the chances are 
greatly against him ; and, if he runs foul of either, 
ten to one he is lost. The present indiscriminate 
credit system is a labyrinth, the entrance is easy, but 
how to get out — that's the question. It is an endless 
chain, and if one link breaks in a particular commu- 
nity, it degrades the whole. The concussion may 
break many more, create a panic, and the chain 
become useless. If this misfortune would cure the 
evil, it would be a blessing in disguise ; but so deeply 
rooted is this system among us, that no sooner is one 
chain destroyed ^than another is manufactured ; an 
increasing weight is put upon it; presently some ol 
its links snap, another concussion is produce<i, and 
creates a new panic ; car after car rushes down the 
inclined plane of bankruptcy, increasing the mass oi 
broken fragments and general ruin, all so commingled 
that a Philadelphia lawyer, aided by constablcis and 
sheriffs, can bring but little order out of the confusion. 
At the outset, especially among merchants, a ruinous 
tax is imposed by this system upon the vendor and 
vendee. The seller, in addition to a fair profit foi 
cash in hand, adds a larger per cent, to mieet losses 
from bad debts, but which often falls far short of the 
mark. Each purchaser, who is ultimately able tc 
pay, bears the proportionate burden of this tax, and 
both contribute large sums to Indulge those who can- 
not, and what is worse, those who never Intend to 
pay; thus encouraging fraud. On every hand we 
see people living on credit, putting off pay-day to the 




if 




DEBT. 



547 



C^^P' 



]nst, making in the end some desperate effort, either 
by begging or borrowing, to scrape the money 
together, and then struggHng on again, with the 
canker of care eating at their heart, to the inevitable 
goal of bankruptcy. If people would only make a 
push at the beginning, instead of the end, they would 
save themselves all this misery. The great secret of 
J^S]^splvent, and well-to-do, and comfortable, is to 
gei ahead of your expenses. Eat and drink this 
month what you earned last month — not what you 
are going to earn next month. There are, no doubt, 
many persons so unfortunately situated that they can 
never accomplish this. No man can to a certainty 
guard against ill health ; no man can insure himself a 
well-conducted, helpful family, or a permanent income. 
Friendships are broken over debts ; forgeries and 
^/;murders are committed on their account; and, how^ 
^" ever considered, they are a source of cost..an:d annoy 
ance — and that continually. They break in every- 
where upon the harmonious relations of men ; they 
render men servile or tyrannous, as they chance to be 
debtors or creditors ; they blunt sensitiveness to per- 
sonal independence, and, in no respect that w^ car 
fathom, do they advance the general well-being. 




648 



FAILURE. 



i 









Ittr^. 



In every community there are men who are deter- 
mined not to work if work can be shirked. Without 
avowing this determination to themselves, or reflect- 
ing- that they are fighting against a law of nature, 
they begin Hfe with a resolution to enjoy all the good 
things that are accumulated by the labor of man, 
without contributing their own share of labor to the 
common stock. Hence the endless schemes for getting 
rich in a day — for reaching the goal of wealth by a 
few gigantic bounds, instead of by slow and plodding 
steps. It matters not in what such men deal, whether 
in oroide watches or in watered stock ; whether they 
make ** corners" in wheat or in gold; whether they 
gamble in oats or at roulette ; whether they steal a 
railway or a man's money by ''gift-concerts" — the 
principle is in all cases the same, namely, to obtain 
something for nothing, to get values without parting 
with anything in exchange. Everybody knows the 
history of such men, the vicissitudes they experience 
— vicissitudes rendering the millionaire of to-day a 
beggar to-morrow. 

Firms are constantly changing. Splendid mansions 
change hands suddenly. A brilliant party is held in 
an up-town house, the sidewalk is carpeted, and the 
papers are full of the brilliant reception. The next 
season the house will be dismantled, and a family, 
''going into the country," or "to Europe," will offer 







I 



^ 
(^"" 



II 



(.. 







:9-^v 



their Imported furniture to the pubHc under the ham- 
mer. A brilliant equipage Is seen In the parks In the 
early part of the season, holding gaily dressed ladles 
and some successful speculators. Before the season 
closes some government officer or sporting man will 
drive that team on his own account, while the gay 
party that called the outfit their own in the early pai4 
of the season have passed away forever. This grows'^ 
out of the manner in which business Is done. There 
Is no thrift, no forecast, no thought for the morrow. 
A man who makes fifty thousand dollars, instead ol 
settling half of It on his wife and children, throws the 
whole Into a speculation with the expectation of 
making It a hundred thousand. A successful dry 
goods jobber, who has a balance of seventy-five 
thousand dollars to his credit In the bank, instead ol 




^.u^\ 



-"^l^y^-^-^. holding it for a wet day or a tight time, goes Into #^ 
- *" little stock speculation and hopes l:o make a fortune^ 

at a strike. Men who have a good season launch 
out into extravagancies and luxuries, and these, with 
the gambling mania. Invariably carry people under. 

A gentleman, who had a very successful trade, built 
him an extraordinary country seat In Westchester 
county, which was the wonder of the age. His house 
was more costly than the palace of the Duke of Buc- 
cleuch. His estate comprised several acres laid out 
In the most expensive manner, and the whole was 
encircled with gas lights, several hundred In number, 
which were lit every evening. As might have been 
expected, with the first reverse, (and It comes sooner 
or later to all,) the merchant was crushed, and as he 




'k 



S^ 






yt^K 



A 




^^li^^. 




FAILURE. 



thought disgraced ; and he was soon carried to his 
sepulchre, the wife obliged to leave her luxurious 
home, and by the kindness of creditors was allowed, 
with her children, to find temporary refuge in the 
coachman's loft in her stable. 

Americans are always in a hurry when they have 
an object to accomplish ; but if there be any vocation 
or pursuit in which gradual, slow-coach processes are 
scouted with peculiar detestation, it is that of acquir- 
ing riches. Especially is this true at the present day, 
when fortunes are continually changing hands, and 
men are so often, by a lucky turn of the wheel, lifted 
from the lowest depths of poverty to the loftiest pin- 
nacle of wealth and affluence. Exceptional persons 
there are, who are content with slow gains — willing 
to accumulate riches by adding penny to penny, dollar 
to dollar ; but the mass of business men are too apt 
to despise such a tedious, laborious ascent of the 
steep of fortune, and to rush headlong into schemes 
for the sudden acquisition of wealth. Hence honor- 
able labor is too often despised ; a man of parts is 
expected to be above hard work. 

There is, with a great majority of men, a want of 
constancy in whatever plans they undertake. They 
toil as though they doubted that life had earnest and 
decided pathways ; as though there were no compass 
but the shifting winds, with each of which they must 
change their course. Thus they beat about on the 
ocean of time, but never cross it, to rest on delightful 
islands or mainland?;. 






l/^M 



m 



No CALAMITY cau produce such paralysis of the 
mind as despair. It Is the cap stone of the cHmax of 
human anguish. The mental powers are frozen with 
indifference, the heart becomes ossified with melan- 
^=ch^W, 4^he--soul is shrouded in a cloud of gloom. No 
wcTras of consolation, no cheerful repartee, can break 
the death-like calm ; no love can warm the pent-up 
heart; no sunbeams dispel the dark clouds. Time 
may effect a change ; death will break the monotony. 
We can extend our kindness, but cannot relieve the 
victim. We may trace the causes of this awful dis- 
ease ; God only can effect a cure. We may speculate 
upon its nature, but cannot feel its force until its iron 
hand is laid upon us. We may call it weakness, bu 
cannot prove or demonstrate the proposition. We 
may call it folly, but can point to no frivolity to sus- 
tain our position. We may call it madness, but can 
discover no maniac actions. We may call it stub- 
bornness, but can see no exhibitions of indocility. 
We may call it lunacy, but cannot perceive the inco- 
herences of that unfortunate condition. We can call 
it, properly, nothing but dark, gloomy despair, an 
undefined and undefinable paralysis of all the sensibil- 
ities that render a man happy, and capable of impart^ 
ing happiness to those around him. It is a state of 
torpid dormancy, rather than a mental derangement 
of the cerebral organs. 



:s^ 






DESPAIR. 

Me miserable ! which way shall I fly 
Infinite wrath, and infinite despair ? 
Which way I fly is hell ; myself am hell ? 
And in the lowest deep a lower deep 
Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide, 
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven. 

— Milton. 



It is induced by a false estimate of things, and oi 
the dispensations and g-overnment of the God of 
mercy. Disappointments, losses, severe and con- 
tinued afflictions, sudden transition from wealth to 
poverty, the death of dear friends, may cast a gloom 
over the mind that does not correctly comprehend the 
great first cause and see the hand of God in every 
thing, and produce a state of despair, because these 
things are viewed in a false mirror. Fanaticism in 
religious meetings has produced the most obstinate 
and melancholy cases of despair that have come under 
our own observation. Intelligence, chastened by 
religion, are the surest safeguards against this state 
of misery ; ignorance and vice are its greatest pro- 
moters. Despair is the destruction of all hope, the 
deathless sting that refines the torment of the finally 
impenitent and lost. It is that undying worm, that un- 
quenchable fire, so graphically described in Holy Writ. 

Remember this, that God always helps those who 
help themselves, that he never forsakes those who 
are good and true, and that he heareth even the 
youngs ravens when they cry. Moreover, remember 
too, that come what may, we must never give up in 
life's battle, but press onward to the end, always 
keeping in mind the words — never despair. 




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STEPPING STONES. 




Despair Is the death of the soul. If we will sym- 
pathize with God's system of salvation, there is no 
occasion for despondency or a feeling of condemna- 
tion, as we discover our defects from time to time ; 
but, on the other hand, of cheerful hopefulness, and 
^^confidence of this very thing, that "He who hath 
^- « begui) a good work In us will perform it until the dW 
'^'Vof J^sus Chrlsti<>^^ _ ^''^^ 



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Stepping stones are advantages, auxiliaries, power, 
etc., and these are attained In no other way than 
si^^tr'through personal experiences^^ Our trials, of life 
strengthen us; discouragements, disappointments, 
misfortunes, failures, adversities, and calamities, are 
all stepping stones for us ; each successive victory 
raises us higher in strength and power. It is through 
trials that stout hearts are made. It is through 
adversities that our patience and courage are in- 
creased. 

Men are frequently like tea — the real strength and 
goodness is not properly drawn out of them till 
they have been a short time in hot water. The 
ripest fruit grows on the roughest wall. It is the small 
wheels of the carriage that come in first. The man 
who holds the ladder at the bottom is frequently of 
more service than he who Is stationed at the top of it. 




£ 



554 





The turtle, though brought In at a rear gate, takes 
the head of the table. ''Better to be the cat in the 
philanthropist's family than a mutton pie at z king's 
banquet." 

He who bears adversity well gives the best evidence 
that he will not be spoiled by prosperity. Many a 
promising reputation has been destroyed by early 
success. It Is far from being true, in the progress of 
knowledge, that after every failure we must recom- 
mence from the beginning. Every failure Is a step 
to success ; every detection of what Is false directs 
us toward what is true ; every trial exhausts some 
tempting form of error. Not only so, but scarcely 
any attempt is entirely a failure ; scarcely any theory, 
the result of steady thought, is altogether false ; no 
tempting form of error Is without some latent charm 
derived from truth. 

Doubtless a deeper feeling of individual responsi- 
bility, and a better adaptation of talent to its fields of 
labor, are necessary to bring about a better state of 
society, and a better condition for the individual 
members of It. But with the most careful adaptation 
of talent and means to pursuits, no man can succeed, 
as a general principle, who has not a fixed and reso- 
lute purpose in his mind, and an unwavering faith 
that he can carry that purpose out. 

Man Is born a hero, and It is only by darkness and 
storms that heroism gains its greatest and best devel- 
opment and Illustration ; then It kindles the black 
cloud into a blaze of glory, and the storm bears It 
rapidly to Its destiny. Despair not, then, disappoint- 



"P 



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If 



STEPPING STONES. 



655 



fi'm 



nent will be realized. Mortifying- failure may attend 
this effort and that one ; but only be honest and 
struggle on, and it will all work well. 

What though once supposed friends have disclaimed 
and deserted thee — fortune, the jade, deceived thee 
— and the stern tyrant, adversity, roughly asserted 
his despotic power to trample thee down? ''While 
there's life there's hope." Has detraction's busy 
tongue assailed thy peace, and contumely's venomed 
shaft poisoned thy happiness, by giving reputation its 
death-blow; destroyed thy confidence in friendly 
promise, and rendered thee suspicious of selfishness 
in the exhibition of brotherly kindness ; or the tide 
of public opinion well nigh overwhelmed thee 'neath 
its angry waves ? Never despair. Yield not to the 
influence of sadness, the blighting power of dejection, 
^/irhich sinks thee in degrading inaction, or drive^^^^ 
^^o seek relief in some fatal vice, or to dro\vn recol-' 
lection in the poisoning bowl. Arouse, and shake the 
oppressive burden from overpowering thee. Quench 
the stings of slander in the waters of Lethe ; bury 
despondency in oblivion ; fling melancholy to the 
winds, and with firm bearing and a stout heart push 
on to the attainment of a higher goal The open 
field for energetic action is large, and the call for vig- 
orous laborers immensely exceed the supply. Much 
precious time is squandered, valuable labor lost, 
mental activity stupified and deadened by vain regrets, 
useless repinings, and unavailing idleness. The 
appeal for volunteers in the great battle of life, in 
exterminating ignorance and error, and planting high 





C3 



on an everlasting- foundation the banner of intelli- 
gence and rig-ht, is directed to thee, wouldst thou but 
grant it audience. Let no cloud again darken thy 
spirit, or weight of sadness oppress thy heart. Arouse 
ambition's smouldering fires. The laurel may e'en 
now be wreathed destined to grace thy brow. Burst 
the trammels that impede thy progress, and cling to 
hope. The world frowned darkly upon all who have 
ever yet won fame's wreath, but on they toiled. 
Place high thy standard, and with a firm tread and 
fearless eye press steadily onward. Persevere, and 
thou Avilt surely reach it. Are there those who have 
watched, unrewarded, through long sorrowful years, 
for the dawning of a brighter morrow, when the 
weary soul should calmly rest? Hope's bright rays 
still Illume their dark pathways, and cheerfully they 
watch. Never despair ! Faint not, though thy task 
be heavy, and victory is thine. None should despair ; 
God can help them. None should presume; God 
can cross them. 



-^m- 




Prayer Is an action of likeness to the Holy Ghost, 
the spirit of gentleness and dove-like simplicity ; an 
imitation of the Holy Jesus, whose spirit Is meek, and 
a conformity to God, whose anger is always just, and 
marches slowly, and is without transportation, and 
often hindered and never hasty, and Is full of mercy. 



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PRAYER. 



Prayer is the peace of our spirit, the stillness of our 
thoughts, the evenness of recollection, the seat of 
meditation, the rest of our cares, and the calm of our 
tempest ; prayer is the issue of a quiet mind, of 
untroubled thoughts ; it is the daughter of charity, 
and the sister of meekness ; and he who prays to 
God with van angry, that is, with a troubled and^dis^J 
composed spirit, is Hke him who retires into a battle 
to meditate, and sets up his closet in the out-quarters 
of an army, and chooses a frontier garrison to be 
wise in. Anger is a perfect alienation of the mind 
from prayer, and therefore is contrary to that atten- 
tion which presents our prayers in a right line to God. 
For so have we seen a lark rising from his bed of 
grass, and soaring upward, singing as it rises, and 
hoping to get to heaven, and climb above the clouds ; 
but the poor bird was beaten back with the loud sigh 
ings of an eastern wind, and his motion made 
irregular and inconstant, descending more at every 
breath of the tempest than it could recover by the 
libration and frequent weighing of his wings ; till the 
little creature was forced to sit down and pant, and 
stay till the storm was over ; and then it made a 
prosperous flight, and did rise and sing as if it had 
learned music and motion from an angel, as he passed 
sometimes through the air about his ministries here 
below : so is the prayer of a good man : when his 
affairs have required business, and his business was 
matter of discipline, and his discipline was to pass 
upon a sinning person, or had a design of charity, 
his duty met with the infirmities of a man, and anger 




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558 



PRAYER. 




was its instrument, and the instrument became stronger 
than the prime agent, and raised a tempest, and over- 
ruled the man ; and then his prayer was broken, and 
his thoughts were troubled, and his words went up 
toward a cloud, and his thoughts pulled them back 
again, and made them without intention, and the good 
man sighs for his infirmity, but must be content to 
lose the prayer, and he must recover it when his 
anger is removed, and his spirit is becalmed, made 
even as the brow of Jesus, and smooth like the heart 
of God; and then it ascends to heaven upon the 
wings of the holy dove, and dwells with God, till it 
returns, like the useful bee, laden with a blessing 
and the dew of heaven. 

God respects not the arithmetic of our prayers, 
how many they are; nor the rhetoric of our prayers, 
how neat they are ; nor the geometry of our prayers, 
how long they are ; nor the music of our prayers, how 
melodious they are ; nor the logic of our prayers, 
how methodical they are — but the divinity of our 
prayers, how heart-sprung they are. Not gifts, but 
graces, prevail in prayer. Perfect prayers, without a 
spot or blemish, though not one word be spoken, 
and no phrases known to mankind be tampered with, 
always pluck the heart out of the earth and move it 
softly like a censer, to and fro, beneath the face of 
heaven. 

Prayer is a constant source of invigoration to self- 
discipline; not the thoughtless praying, which is a 
thing of custom, but that which is sincere, intense, 
watchful. Let a man ask himself whether he really 



Iftii 





PRAYER. 



559 



.1 ^-Q 




^"z 



would have the thing- he prays for ; let him think, 
while he is praying for a spirit of forgiveness, whether, 
even at that moment, he is disposed to give up the 
luxury of anger. If not, what a horrible mockery it 
is ! Do not say you have no convenient place to 
pray in. Any man can find a place private enough, 
[|,^he is disposed. Our Lord prayed on a mountain, 
the house-top, Isaac in the field, Nathaniel 




tffta^r the fig-tree, Jonah in the whale's belly. Any 
place may become a closet, an oratory, and a bethel, 
and be to us the presence of God. 

To present a petition is one thing; to prosecute a 
suit is another. Most prayers answer to the former ; 
but successful prayer corresponds to the latter. God's 
people frequently lodge their petition in the court of 
heaven and there they let it lie. They do not press 
®ieir suit. They do not employ other means pf fu^^-'jll 
thering it beyond the presenting of it. -?^e whole 
of prayer does not consist in taking hold of God. 
The main matter is holding on. How many are 
induced by the slightest appearance of repulse to let 
go, as Jacob did not ! We have been struck with the 
manner in which petitions are usually concluded — - '^ 
^'And your petitioners will ever pray." So ''men 
ought always pray (to God) and never faint." Pay- 
son says, *'The promise of God is not to the act, but 
to the habit of prayen" 

Though prayer should be the key of the day, and 
the lock of the night, yet we hold it more needful in 
the morning, than when our bodies do take theii 
repose. For howsoever sleep be the image or shadow 



# 



.^ 



of death — and when the shadow is so near, the 
substance cannot be far — yet a man at rest in his 
chamber is Hke a sheep impenned in the fold ; subject 
1 - , only to the unavoidable and more immediate hand of 
I f f God: whereas in the day, when he roves abroad in 
Y the open and wide pastures, he is then exposed to 

/\\ many more unthought-of accidents, that conting-ently 

[I j and casually occur in the way : retiredness is more safe 

^^^ than business : who believes not a ship securer in the 

r^f t^ bay than in the midst of the boiling ocean ? Besides, 
the morning to the day, is as youth to the life of a 
man : If that be begun well, commonly his age is 
virtuous : otherwise, God accepts not the latter ser- 
vice, when his enemy joys in the first dish. Why 
should God take the dry bones, when the devil hath 
sucked the marrow out ? 

Not a few, too, owe their escape from skepticism 
and infidelity to its sacred influence. Said the noted 
John Randolph, "I once took the French side in pol- 
itics ; and I should have been a French atheist, if it 
had not been for one recollection ; and that was the 
memory of the time when my departed mother used 
to take my little hands in hers, and cause me on my 
knees to say, 'Our Father, who art in heaven."' 



** The parent pair their secret homage pay, 
And offer up to heaven the warm request, 
That he who stills the raven's clamorous nest, 

And decks the lily fair in flov/ery pride, 
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best. 
For them and for their little ones provide.'' 



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THERE IS A GOD. Qfji 



^htT^ i^ u ^0A< 



l/s 



There is a God! The herbs of the valley, the ; 

cedars of the mountain, bless him ; the insect sports in 
his beam ; the bird sings Him in the foliage ; the thun- 
der proclaims Him in the heavens ; the ocean declares '^^%/ 
His immensity; man alone has said, "There is no 
God !" Unite in thought at the same instant the 
most beautiful object in nature. Suppose that you 
see at once all the hours of the day, and all the sea- I 

sons of the year; a morning of spring, and a morn- 0-V 

ing of autumn; a night bespangled with stars, and a 
night darkened by clouds ; meadows enameled with 
flowers ; forests hoary with snow ; fields gilded by the 
tints of autumn ; then alone you will have a just con- 
ception of the universe ! While you are gazing on '^ '^^, ^ 
that sun which is plunging into the vault of the west, 
another observer admires him emerging from the 4,^ ^ 

gilded gates of the east. By what inconceivable 
power does that aged star, which is sinking, fatigued 
and burning, in the shades of the evening, reappear , . 

at the same instant fresh and humid with the rosy |:, 

dew of the morning? At every hour of the day the 
glorious orb is at once rising, resplendent as noon- 
day, and setting in the west ; or rather, our senses 
deceive us, and there is, properly speaking, no east 
or west, no north or south, in the world. 

Go out beneath the arched heavens, at night, and 
say, if you can, *' There is no God!'' Pronounce 
36 ^.r^r^j^ 





that dreadful blasphemy, and each star above you will 
reproach the unbroken darkness of your intellect; 
every voice that floats upon the night winds will 
bewail your utter hopelessness and folly. 

Is there no God ? Who, then, unrolled the blue 
scroll, and threw upon its high frontispiece the legible 
gleamings of immortality ? Who fashioned this green 
earth, with its perpetual rolling waters, and its wide 
expanse of islands and of main ? Who settled the 
foundations of the mountains ? Who paved the 
heavens with clouds, and attuned, amid the clamor of 
storms, the voice of thunders, and unchained the 
lightnings that flash in their gloom ? 

Who gave to the eagle a safe eyrie where the tem- 
pests dwell, and beat the strongest, and to the dove 
a tranquil abode amid the forests that echo to the 
minstrelsy of her moan ? Who made thee, O man ! 
with thy perfected elegance of intellect and form? 
Who made the light pleasant to thee, and the dark- 
ness a covering, and a herald to the first gorgeous 
flashes of the morning? 

There is a God. All nature declares it in a lan- 
guage too plain to be misapprehended. The great 
truth is too legibly written over the face of the whole 
creation to be easily mistaken. Thou canst behold it 
in the tender blade just starting from the earth in the 
early spring, or in the sturdy oak that has withstood 
the blasts of fourscore winters. The purling rivulet, 
meandering through downy meads and verdant glens, 
and Niagara's tremendous torrent, leaping over its 
awful chasm, and rolling in majesty its broad sheet 









I 



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TiiKRr: IS A (ion. 



563 



^ 





1 



of waters onward to the ocean, unite in proclaiming 
"1 HERE IS A God." 

*Tis heard in the whispering breeze and in the 
howhng storm ; in the deep-toned thunder, and in the 
earthquake's shock; 'tis declared to us when the 
tempest lowers ; when the hurricane sweeps over the 
land; when the winds moan around our dwellings, 
:rdie in sullen murmurs on the plain, when the 
Heavens, overcast with blackness, ever and anon are 
illuminated by the lightning's glare. 

Nor is the truth less solemnly impressed on our 
minds in the universal hush and calm repose of 
nature, when all is still as the soft breathings of an 
infant's slumber. The vast ocean, when its broad 
expanse is whitened with foam, and when its heaving 
waves roll mountain on mountain high, or when the 
dark blue of heaven's vault is reflected with beauty 
on its smooth and tranquil bosom, confirnis the dec- ' 
laration. The twinkling star, shedding its flickering 
rays so far above the reach of human ken, and the 
glorious sun in the heavens — all — declare there is a 
universal First Cause. 

And man, the proud lord of creation, so fearfully 
and wonderfully made — each joint in its correspond- 
ing socket — each muscle, tendon, and artery, per- 
forming their allotted functions with all the precision 
of the most perfect mechanism — and, surpassing all, 
possessed of a soul capable of enjoying the most 
exquisite pleasure, or of enduring the most excrucia- 
ting pain, which is endowed with immortal capacities, 
and is destined to live onward through the endless 



"■^^ 








ages of eternity 



unite 



general 



proclamation of the eternal truth — there Is a Being, 
infinite in wisdom, who reigns over all, undivided and 
supreme — the fountain of all life, source of all light 
— from whom all blessings flow, and in whom all 
happiness centres. 



^y^ 



The Bible Is not only the revealer of the unknown 
God to man, but His grand interpreter as the God of 
nature. In revealing God, it has given us the key 
that unlocks the profoundest mysteries of creation, 
the clew by which to thread the labyrinth of the 
universe, the glass through which to look "from 
nature up to nature's God." 

It is only when we stand and gaze upon nature, 
with the Bible in our hands, and its idea of God in 
our understandings, that nature is capable of rising to 
her highest majesty, and kindling in our souls the 
highest emotions of moral beauty and sublimity. 
Without the all-pervading spiritual God of the Bible 
in our thoughts, nature's sweetest music would lose 
its charm, the universe its' hio-hest significance and 
glory. 

Go, and stand with your open Bible upon the Areo- 
pagus of Athens, where Paul stood so long ago ! In 
thoughtful silence, look around upon the site of all 
that ancient greatness ; look upward to those still 




^^ 



V 





i::^.- 





THE BIBLE. 



glorious skies of Greece, and what conceptions of 
wisdom and power will all those memorable scenes of 
nature and art convey to your mind, now, more than 
they did to an ancient worshiper of Jupiter or Apollo? 
They will tell of Him who made the worlds, ''by 
whom, and through whom, and for whom, are all 
things." To you, that landscape of exceeding beauty, >.^ 
so rich in the monuments of departed genius, with its 
distant classic mountains, its deep blue sea, and its 
bright bending skies, will be telling a tale of glory 
the Grecian never learned ; for it will speak to you no 
more of its thirty thousand petty contending deities, 
but of the one living and everlasting God. 

Go, stand with David and Isaiah under the star- 
spangled canopy of the night ; and, as you look away 
to the "range of planets, suns, and adamantine 
spheres wheeling unshaken through the void im-'^ 
mense ;" take up the mighty questionings of inspira- 
tion ! 

Go, stand upon the heights at Niagara, and listen 
in awe-struck silence to that boldest, most earnest, 
and most eloquent of all nature's orators ! And what 
is Niagara, with its plunging waters and its mighty 
roar, but the oracle of God, the whisper of His voice 
who is revealed in the Bible as sitting above the 
water-floods forever! 

Who can stand amid scenes like these, with the 
Bible in his hand, and not feel that if there is a moral 
sublimity to be found on earth, it is in the Book ot 
God, it is in the thought of God ? For what are 
all these outward, visible forms of grandeur but the 



V4_m 



c 






THE 



expression and the utterance of that conception of 
Deity which the Bible has created in our minds, and 
which has now become the leading and largest thought 
of all civilized nations ? 

The oldest reliable history is that given by Moses : 
"And God said, Let there be light, and there was 
light." And on and down, for four thousand years, 
the sacred volume follows the fortunes of God's 
chosen people. And, incidentally, it gives us, at the 
same time, light on the contemporary nations of hea- 
thendom. See what it has done for science. True, 
it does not unfold to us the mysteries of geology, 
astronomy, or chemistry. And yet it does train the 
mind for its loftiest flights and its broadest explora- 
tions. 'T have always found," said a patron of the 
National Institute at Washington, '*in my scientific 
studies, that, when I could get the Bible to say any- 
thing on the subject, it afforded me a firm platform to 
stand upon, and another round in the ladder, by 
which I could safely ascend." It throws its beams 
into the temples of science and literature, no less 
than those of religion ; and so prepares the way for 
man's advancement in philosophy, metaphysics, and 
natural sciences, no less than in the realm of ethics ; 
and, as it saves the soul, it exalts the intellect. 

The Bible is adapted to every possible variety of 
taste, temperament, culture, and condition. It has 
strong reasoning for the intellectual ; it takes the calm 
and contemplative to the well-balanced James, and 
the affectionate to the loving and beloved John. The 
pensive may read the tender lamentations and the 



^ 



i 



'^' 



i^'^i- 



THE BIBLE. 



funeral strains of Jeremiah. Let the sanguine com- 
mune with the graphic and creative Joel ; and the 
plain and practical may go to the wise Ecclesiastes or 
or the outspoken Peter. They who like brilliant 
apothegms, should study the book of Proverbs ; and 
the lover of pastoral and quiet delineations may dwell 
with the sweet singer of Israel, or the richly endowed 
Amos and Hosea. If you would take the wings of 
imagination, and leap from earth to heaven, or wan- 
der through eternity, then open the Revelation ; and 
pour over and fill yourself with the glory of the New 
Jerusalem ; and listen to the seven thunders ; and 
gaze on the pearly gates and the golden streets of 
the heavenly city. 

Not only is this book precious to tne poor and 
unlearned ; not only is it the counselor and confidence 
>.f the great middle class of society, both spiritually 
and mentally speaking; but the scholar an/dL^^sage, 
the intellectual monarchs of the race, bow to its 
authority. It has encountered the scorn of a Lucian, 
the mystic philosophy of a Porphyry, the heartless 
skepticism of a Hume, the lore of a Gibbon, the 
sneers of a Voltaire, the rude weapons of a Paine, 
and the subtle, many-sided neology of modern Ger- 
many. But none of these things have moved it. 
Nay, parallel with these attempts at its subjugation, 
and triumphant over them all, have advanced the 
noble works of such commanding intellects as New- 
ton, Chalmers, Robert Hall, Bowditch, Channing, 
testifying that, to them, the Bible bore the stamp of a 
special revelation and the seal of the eternal God. 





568 



THE BIBLE. 



f4 




To multitudes of our race this book is not only the 
foundation of their religious faith, but their daily 
practical guide. It has taken hold of the world as 
no other book ever did. Not only is it read in all 
Christian pulpits, but it enters every habitation from 
the palace to the cottage. It is the golden chain 
which binds hearts together at the marriage altar ; it 
contains the sacred formula for the baptismal rite. It 
blends itself with our daily conversation, and is the 
silver thread of all our best reading, giving its hue, 
more or less distinctly, to book, periodical, and daily 
paper. When the good mother parts with her dear 
boy, other volumes may be placed in his hands, but 
we are sure that, with tearful prayers, she will fold 
among his apparel a Bible. On the seas it goes with 
the mariner, as his spiritual chart and compass ; and 
on the land it is to untold millions their pillar-cloud 
by day, their fire-column by night. In the closet and 
in the street, amid temptations and trials, this is man's 
most faithful attendant, and his strongest shield. It 
is our lamp through the dark valley ; and the radiator 
of our best light from the solemn and unseen future. 
Stand before it as a mirror and you will see there 
not only your good traits, but errors, follies, and sins, 
which you did not imagine were there until now. 
You desire to make constant improvement. Go then 
to the Bible. It not only shows the way of all pro- 
gress, but it incites you to go forward. It opens 
before you a path leading up and still upward, along 
which good angels will cheer you, and God himself 
will lend you a helping hand. 




r^m^ 



THE BIBLE. 



563 





You may go to the statesman who has filled the 
highest office in this country, and ask him whether 
his cup of joy has been full ? As he stands by at the 
inauguration of his successor, his shaded brow will 
tell you nay. Ask the warrior, coming from the bat- 
_.tle-field, his garments rolled in blood, Did the shouts 
of victory satiate his thirst for applause? Bid any 
of the godless sons of literary fame, Frederic of Prus- 
sia, Byron, or Volney, give in their testimony ; and 
they affirm, in one gloomy voice : 

" We've drank every cup of joy, heard every trump 
Of fame ; drank early, deeply drank, drank draughts 
That common millions might have quenched ; — then died 
Of thirst, because there was no more to drink." 

But never a human being went to the Bible, who 
did not find His words true: "But whosoever drink- 
eth of the water I will give him, shall never thirst; 
for it shall be in him a well of water springing up 
into everlasting life." Like an ethereal principle of 
light and life, its blessed truths extend with electric 
force through all the avenues and elements of the 
home-existence, ''giving music to language, elevation 
to thought, vitality to feeling, intensity to power, 
beauty and happiness." 

It is a book for the mind, the heart, the conscience, 
the will and the life. It suits the palace and the cot 
tage, the afflicted and the prosperous, the living and 
the dying. It is a comfort to ''the house of mourn- 
ing," and a check to "the house of feasting." It 
"giveth seed to the sower, and bread to the eater.'* 
It is simple, yet grand; mysterious, yet plain; and 



r 




%-k\ 







570 



THE BIBLE 



though from God, it is, nevertheless, within tne com- 
prehension of a Httle child. You may send your 
children to school to study other books, from which 
they may be educated for this world ; but in this 
divine book they study the science of the eternal 
world. 

The family Bible has given to the Christian home 
that unmeasured superiority in all the dignities and 
decencies and enjoyments of life, over the home of 
the heathen. It has elevated woman, revealed her 
true mission, developed the true idea and sacredness 
of marriage and of the home-relationship ; it has 
unfolded the holy mission of the mother, the respon- 
sibilities of the parent, and the blessings of the child. 
Take this book from the family, and it will degen- 
erate into a mere conventionalism, marriage into a 
"social contract;" the spirit of mother will depart; 
natural affection will sink to mere brute fondness, and 
what we now call home would become a den of sullen 
selfishness and barbaric lust ! 

And in our own day, a throng of good and great 
men have venerated this book, and imbibed its spirit. 
John Quincy Adams, through a long life, made it his 
daily study ; a neighbor of his once said that, amid 
the most active portions of life, he always translated 
a few verses in his Hebrew Bible, the first thing in 
the morning. He read it when a boy ; he clung to it 
through his manhood ; and to his last day, he owed 
to it. not only his rare veneration for the Deity, but 
his love for freedom and humanity, and all his ada- 
mantine virtues. Jackson, Harrison and Clay were 



\V:^^-:.> 



RELIGION, 



571 




^ach students of the Bible. They Hved gratefully by 
its light; and they died in the hope of its glory. 
'Though I walk through the dark valley of the shadow 
of death, I will fear no evil;" these were among 
the last words that fell on the ear of the dying Web- 
ster. Sir Walter Scott, a few days before his death, 
asked his son-indaw to read to him. ''What book," 
^inquired Mr. Lockhart, ''would you like?" "Can 
you ask?" said Sir Walter, ''there is but one." 
Verily, there is but one book to be read in our last 
hours. 



'Religion is the daughter of heaven, parent of our^^^ 
virtues, and source of all true felicity ; she afbne gives 
peace and contentment, divests the heart of anxious 
cares, bursts on the mind a flood of joy, and sheds 
unmingled and perpetual sunshine in the pious breast. 
By her the spirits of darkness are banished from the 
earth, and angelic ministers of grace thicken unseen 
the regions of mortality. 

She promotes love and good will among men, lifts 
up the head that hangs down, heals the wounded 
spirit, dissipates the gloom of sorrow, sweetens the 
cup of affliction, blunts the sting of death, and 
wherever seen, felt, and enjoyed, breathes around 
her an everlasting spring. The external life of man 
is the creature of time and circumstance, and passes 



RELIGION. 



i:^ 



'T 






away, but the internal abides, and continues to exist. 
One is the painted glory of the flower ; the other is 
the delicious attar of the rose. The city and the 
temple may be destroyed, and the tribes exiled and 
dispersed, yet the altars and the faith of Israel are 
still preserved. Spirit triumphs over form. External 
life prevails amidst sounds and shows, and visible 
things ; the internal dwells in silence, sighs and tears, 
and secret sympathies with the invisible world. 
Power, and wealth, and luxury, are relative terms ; 
and if address, and prudence, and policy, can only 
acquire us our share, we shall not account ourselves 
more powerful, more rich, or more luxurious, than 
when in the little we possessed we were still equal to 
those around us. But if we have narrowed the 
sources of internal comfort, and internal enjoyment, 
if we have debased the powers or corrupted the purity 
of the mind, if we have blunted the sympathy or 
contracted the affections of the heart, we have lost 
some of that treasure which was absolutely our own, 
and derived not its value from comparative estimation. 
Above all, if we have allowed the prudence or the 
interests of this world to shut out from our souls the 
view or the hopes of a better, we have quenched that 
light which would have cheered the darkness of 
affliction. But if we let God care for our inward and 
eternal life, if by all the experiences of this life he is 
reducing it and preparing for its disclosure, nothing 
can befall us but prosperity. Every sorrow shall be 
but the setting of some luminous jewel of joy. Our 
very mourning shall be but the enamel around the 






:.| 



.^'f^-N 



V' 
RELIGION. 573 

diamond ; our very hardships but the metalHc rim that 
holds the opal glancing with strange interior fires. 

If you stand upon the mountain, you may see the 
sun shining long after it is dark in the valley. Try to 
live up high ! Escape, if you can, the malarious 
damps of the lowlands. Make an upward path for 
your feet. Though your spirit may be destined to 
live isolated, you cannot be alone, for God is there. -^^^*:. 
Your best strivings of soul are there ! Your standard ? f 

ground should be there ! Live upward ! The cedar V^^ 

is always developing its branches toward the top ^^^,,. 

while the lower ones are dropping away. Let your f r 

soul-life be so ! Upward ! Upward ! 

"Drink deep, or taste not," is a direction full}^ as 
applicable to religion, if we would find it a source of 
pleasure, as it is to knowledge. A little religion is, 
it must be confessed, apt to make men gloomy, as a % <v^W 
little knowledge is to render them vain ; hence the 
unjust imputation brought upon religion by those ^ 

whose degree of religion is just sufficient, by con- ^ i-^ 
demning their course of conduct, to render them ^/ > * 
uneasy; enough merely to impair the sweetness of p^--^ 

the pleasures of sin, and not enough to compensate j^y 

for the relinquishment of them by its own peculiar 
comforts. Thus, then, men bring up, as it were, an 
ill report of that land of promise, which, in truth, K*^ \ 

abounds with whatever, in our journey through life, ^.^J^'"- 

can best refresh and strengthen us. Would you J^'^"^ 

wish, amidst the great variety of religious systems in ij^ 

vogue, to make a right distinction, and prefer the .-^^ 

best? Recollect the character of Christ; keep a > 1^ 




"1l 



steady eye on that universal and permanent good will 
to men, in which He lived, by wdiich He suffered, and 
by which He died. Not in those wild and romantic 
notions, which, to make us Christians, would make 
us fools : but In those Inspired writings, and In those 
alone, which contain His genuine history, and His 
blessed gospel ; and which, in the most peculiar and 
extensive sense, are the words of eternal life. 



la 



-^m^- 



)00A^ 




There are trees, like the butternut, that impoverish 
the ground upon which they grow, but the olive tree 
enriches the very soil upon which it feeds. So there 
are natures as unlike in effect as these. Some cold, 
selfish, absorbing, which chill and impoverish every 
one with whom they come In contact. Others radiate 
affluent souls, who enrich by their very presence, 
whose smiles are full of blessing, and whose touch 
has a balm of feeling In it like the touch of Him of 
Nazareth. Squalid poverty Is not so pitiable and 
barren as the selfish heart, while wealth has no 
largess like that with which God dowers the broad 
and sunny soul. Be like the olive, from whose kindly 
boughs blessing and benison descend. 

One of the old philosophers bade his scholars to 
consider what was the best thing to possess. One 
come and said that there was nothing better than a 
good eye, w^hich is, In their language, a liberal and con- 



MW 



W 






DOING GOOD. 



575 



^m^ 



tented disposition. Another said a good companion 
was the best thing in the world. A third said a good 
neighbor was the best thing he could desire ; and the 
fourth preferred a man that could foresee things to 
come. — that is, a wise person. But at last came in 
one Eleazer, and he said a good heart was better 
than them all. "True," said the master, ''thou hast 

^^^^mprehended in two words all that the rest have 
^id ; for he that hai"^ a good heart will be both con- 
tented, and a good companion, and a good neighbor, 
and easily see what is fit to be done by him." 

Every man should ever consider that it is best for 
him to have a good heart ; having this it will prompt 
him to not only do good, but it will encompass many 
virtues. We counsel our friends, then, to seize every 
opportunity of contributing to the good of others. 
>,ometimes a smile will do it. Oftener a kind word, 

^a look of sympathy, or an acknowledgment of obli- 
gation. Sometimes a little help to a burdened shoul- 
der, or a heavy wheel, will be in place. Sometimes 
a word or two of good counsel, a seasonable and 
gentle admonition, and at others, a suggestion of 
advantage to be gained and a little interest to secure 
it, v/ill be received with lasting gratitude. And thus 
every instance of kindness done, whether acknowl- 
edged or not, opens up a little wellspring of happi- 
ness in the doer's own breast, the flow of which may 
be made permanent by habit. 

Influence is to a man what flavor is to fruit, or fra- 
grance to the flower. It does not develop strength, 
or determine character, but it is the measure of his 









576 DOING GOOD. 

. interior richness and worth, and as the blossom can- 

/■ not tell wV^at becomes of the odor which is wafted 




f 



away from it by every wind, so no man knows the 
limit of that influence which constantly and impercep- 
,, tibly escapes from his daily life, and goes out far 

beyond his conscious knowledge or remotest thought. 
There are noxious weeds and fragrance -laden flow- 
ers in the world of mind as in the world of matter. 
Truly blessed are they who walk the way of life as 
the Savior of mankind once walked on our earth, 
filling all the air about them with the aroma which is 
so subtilely distilled from kindly deeds, helpful words 
and unselfish lives. 
I One kernel is felt in a hogshead — one drop of 

water helps to swell the ocean — a spark of fire 
helps to give light to the world. You are a small 
man, passing amid the crowd, you are hardly noticed ; 
L. ' but you have a drop, a spark within you that may be 

I felt through eternity. Do you believe it? Set that 

1? drop in motion, give wings to that spark, and behold 

the results ! It may renovate the world. 

None are too small — too feeble — too poor to be of 

service think of this, and act. Life is no trifle. If 

we work upon marble, it will perish ; if we work upon 

brass time will efface it ; if we rear temples, they will 

i crumble into dust. But if we work upon immortal 

' minds — if we imbue them with high principles, with 

the just fear of God, and of their fellow-men — we 

J engrave on these tables something which no time can 

\ efface, but which will brighten to all eternity. It is a 

great thing to stand in a place of God, and proclaim 

T Ris word in the presence of. angels and men. 




DOING GOOD. 



577 




If 

6m 



■4^k 



If you would show yourself a man in the truest and 

noblest sense, go not to yonder tented field, where 

death hovers, and the vulture feasts himself upon 

human victims ! Go not where men are carving" 

__ monuments of marble to perpetuate names which will 

/hot live in our own p-rateful memorv ! Go not to the 



^;' dwellings of the^iich ! Go not to the palaces of^^li^ f; 
-!kings ! Go not to the halls of merriment and pleas- 
ure ! fjb rather to the poor and helpless. Go to the 
widow and relieve her woe. Go to the orphan and 
speak words of comfort. Go to the lost, and save 
him. Go to the fallen and raise him up. Go to the 
sinner, and whisper in his ear words of eternal life. 
A man's true wealth hereafter, is the good he does in 
this world to his fellow men. When he dies, people 
, 'f^^^ say, ''What property has he left behind him?'' 

Jn^" ' But the angels who examine will ask, 'IWh at are^the^ 
't5up ^ood deeds thou hast sent before thee ?" 

A Every one of us may in some way or other assist 

or instruct some of his fellow creatures, for the best 
of the human race is poor and needy, and all have a 
mutual dependence on one another. There is nobody 
who cannot do some good ; and everybody is bound 
to do diligently all the good he can. It is by no 
means enough to be rightly disposed, to be serious, 
and religious in our closets ; we must be useful too, 
and take care that as we all reap numberless benefits 
^^(^ from society, society may be the better for every one 
of us. It is a false, a faulty, and an indolent humility, 
that makes people sit still and do nothing, because 
they will not believe that they are capable of doing 
.37 r^^^ilA^^^TN 




^1 







I 



much, for everybody can do something*. Bverybody 
can set a good example, be it to many or to few. 
Everybody can in some degree encourage virtue and 
religion, and discountenance vice and folly. Every- 
body has some one or other whom he can advise, or 
instruct, or in some way help to guide through life. 
Those who are too poor to give alms can yet give 
their time, their trouble, their assistance in preparing 
or forwarding the gifts of others ; in considering and 
representing distressed cases to those who can 
relieve them ; in visiting and comforting the sick and 
afflicted. Everybody can offer up his prayers for 
those who need them ; which, if he do reverently and 
sincerely, he will never be wanting in giving them 
every other assistance that it should please God to 
put in his power. 

Dr. Johnson used to say, ''He ^/ho waits to do a 
great deal of good at once, will never do any," Good 
is done by degrees. However small in proportion to 
benefits which follow individual attempts to do good, 
a great deal may be accomplished by perseverance, 
even in the midst of discouragements and disappoint- 
ments. Life is made up of little things. It is but 
once in an age that occasion is offered for doing a 
great deed. True greatness consists in being great 
in little things. How are railroads built? By one 
shovelful of dirt after another; one shovelful at a 
time. Thus drops make the ocean. Hence we 
should be willing to do a little good at a time, and 
never ''wait to do a great deal of good at once." It 
we would do much good in the world, we must be 



1 



■«if) 



willing to do good in little things, little acts one after 
another, setting a good example all the time ; we must 
do the first good thing we can, and then the next, and 
the next, and so keep on doing good. Oh ! it is 
great ; there is no other greatness : to make some nook 
of God's creation a little more fruitful, better, more 
worthy of a God ; to make some human hearts a 
^Sp^wiser, more manful, happier ; more blessed, less 
£^#ffsed ! The first and paramount aim of religion 
is not to prepare for another world, but to make the 
best of this world; or, more correctly stated, to make 
this world better, wiser, and happier. It is to be 
good, and do the most good we can now and here, 
and to help others to be and do the same. It is to 
seek with all our might the highest welfare of the 
world we live in, and the realization of its ideal great- 
1 y-v-^z-ness, nobleness, and blessedness. A most comfortkgW 
^ ''^ ^^ " thought is, that the forever will not be a place of white%( 
robes and golden harps and praise singing only, but 
will also be a place for living, loving and doing. 
There is pleasure in contemplating good ; there is a 
greater pleasure in receiving good ; but the greatest 
pleasure of all is in doing good, which comprehends^: 
the rest. Do good with what thou hast, or it will do 
thee no good. The power of doing good to worthy 
objects, is the only enviable circumstance in the lives 
of people of fortune. Napoleon once entered a 
cathedral and saw twelve silver statues. ''What are 
these?" said the Emperor. ''The twelve Apostles," 
was the reply. "Well," said he, "take them down, 
melt them, and coin them into money, and let them 




580 



WELL DOING. 





.J 




go about doing good, as their Master did." Re always 
sure of doing good. This will make your life com- 
fortable, your death happy, and your account glorious. 
Zealously strive to do good for the sake of good. Be 
not; simply good ; be good for something. 

How sweet 'twill be at evening 

If you and I can say 
^' Good Shepherd, we've been seeking 

The lambs that went astray ; 
Heart-sore, and faint with hunger. 

We heard them making moan, 
And lo ! we come at night-fall 

Bearing them safely home!" 



..^^.^^. 



iiiig. 



I AM happy, says G. S. Weaver, in knowing that 
although men differ about woman's intellectual capac- 
ities, they agree in ascribing to her the highest order 
of moral and social qualities. All admit that woman 
is the morality and religion, the love and sociality, of 
humanity. In these developments of human attain- 
ments, she is the queen without a peer. These are 
at present woman's peculiar fields of power. Society 
has measurably shut her out from the intellectual arena 
of life. But if it has cut short her operations in tliis, 
it has extended them in the field of social life. Wide 
and grand are her opportunities here. Man is not so 
deficient in gallantry as he is in generosity and judg- 
ment. In what man has oppressed woman it Is more 
the fault of his head than his heart; it is more a 



<2: 



!l 






^t^f 



r:-^' 




>'-. -vO 





weakness of conscience than of affection. He is 
prouder of his judgment than he ought to be. His 
judgment often fails because it is not sanctified by 
conscience. His intellect is often deceived because 
its vision is not extended and widened by a deep 
.-affection and a broad benevolence. In this, woman 
*j^s 'the advantage of him in the present relations oi 
the sexes. Her moxal sense consecrates her intellect; 
and her heart quickens it, thus making her judgment 
more intuitive and ready, more comprehensive and 
sure. Shc/ee/s that a thing is so; he reasons that it 
is so. She judges by impression when facts are 
stated ; he by logic. Her impressions she cannot 
always explain, because her intellect has not been 
sufficiently cultivated ; his logic often fails him, because 
it is not sufficiently imbued with the moral element. 
'The light of the conscience and the heart does not 
shine upon it with sufficient strength. This we 
understand to be the present difference between the 
male and female mind. It is more than a difference 
in growth and culture, in inherent constitution. We 
do not believe that the relation between the different 
departments of the human mind naturally differ in 
men and women ; that is, we do not believe that man 
is more intelligent and less moral, and woman more 
moral and less intellectual. A perfect male mind is 
an equal strength of the several departments of mind ; 
that is, an equal strength of the intellectual, moral, 
social, and energetic portions of the mind, a balance 
among its several powers. The same is true of the 
female mind. 



f 



P 



ci 



f 



^ 












V' 



582 




WELL DOING. 



So far as this relation of the parts is concerned, it 
is the same in the perfect male and female mind. In 
just so much as this relation is changed, is the judg- 
ment corrupted and the mental strength impaired. 
In the present male mind this relation is changed by 
giving the greater cultivation to the intellect, and less 
to the moral sense and the heart. So his judgment 
is impaired and the moral dignity of his soul debased, 
He is a less man than he ought to be ; is deformed in 
his mental growth like a tree grown in a shady place 
where the light could reach it from only one quarter. 
He has less power of mind than he would have with 
the same amount of cultivation properly and equally 
distributed among the several departments of his 
mind. Strength lies in balance of power. Our men 
are not too intellectual, but too intellectual for their 
moral and affectionate strength. • They are like an 
apple grown all on one side, or a horse with dispro- 
portioned body, or any animal with some of its limbs 
too short for the rest. Mentally they are deformed 
and lame by their one-sided culture. In the present 
female mind there is a disproportion in another direc- 
tion. In this the intellect has been neglected, while 
the moral and social mind has had a better degree of 
cultivation. Thus our women have been mentally 
deformed and weakened. They are less woman than 
they ought to have been. Their characters and 
judgments have lacked harmony, and their lives have 
been marked by the same deficiencies. Their minds 
are one-sided and marked with sad irregularities. 
They are not too moral and affectionate, but are not 



14 



/ P 






.'/■-E' 



I 





sufficiently intellectual. The same amount of culture 
which they have received would have conferred more 
beauty and dignity to the character and life had it 
been more general, or equally applied to the several 
powers of mind. Sound judgment, pure life, dignity 
of character are the results of a balance of power 
and culture in the several departments of mind, 
r^s difference in the culture of the male and female 
jnade a breach between the sexes. The 
male mind cannot comprehend the female, nor 
the female the male. Instead of growing up in 
similarity and harmony, they have grown up into 
wide differences. 

The male and female mind are not alike by nature, 
by any means. There is a wide difference between 
them ; but the difference is in the nature, texture, and 
quality of the mind, and not in the relation of parts. 

e female mind has an inherent constitution pejGulia^ 
to itself that makes it female ; so with -the mal£ 
This difference is beyond the fathoming line of human 
thought. We know it exists, but wherefore and how 
we know not. It is the secret of the Divine Con- 
structor of mentality. In our mental structure we 
are to seek for harmony, a consistent rhythmic devel- 
opment of parts. The opportunities offered to 
woman for the cultivation of her moral and religious 
nature are eminently favorable. If her Intelleetual 
opportunities are not so good, her moral and relig- 
ious are better. She is not so pressed with tempta- 
tion. The world does not bear with such an Atlas 
burden on her conscience. The almighty dollar does 



^•'i- 



j:j 




.^^^:J 




not eclipse so large a field of her mental vision. 
Material pursuits do not check so much her spiritual 
progress. God is nearer to her heart, more in her 
thoughts, sweeter in her soul, brighter in her visions, 
because she is less compassed about by the snares of 
vice and the hostile pursuits of the false and flatter- 
ing world. It is a blessed thing for humanity that 
woman is more religious and morally upright ; because 
man is too irreverent and base. He lacks the sanctity 
of high morality and the consecration of religion. 
I speak of man in the mass. Woman is the conser- 
vation of morality and religion. Her moral worth 
holds man in some restraint and preserves his ways 
from becoming inhumanly corrupt. Mighty is the 
power of woman in this respect. Every virtue in 
woman's heart has its influence on the world. Some 
men feel it. A brother, husband, friend, or son, is 
touched by its sunshine. Its mild beneficence is not 
lost. A virtuous woman in the seclusion of her home, 
breathing the sweet influence of virtue into the hearts 
and lives of its beloved ones, is an evangel of good- 
ness to the world. She is one of the pillars of the 
eternal kingdom of right. She is a star shining in 
the moral firmament. She is a princess administer- 
ing at the fountains of life Every prayer she 
breathes is answered to a greater or less extent in 
the hearts and lives of those she loves. Her piety is 
an altar-fire where religion acquires strength to go 
out on its merciful mission. We cannot overestimate 
the utility and power of woman's moral and religious 
character, The world would go to ruinwithout.it. 



^^ 





WELL DOING. 



585 




With all our ministers and chur1:hes, and Bibles and 
sermons, man would be a prodigal without the 
restraint of woman's virtue and the consecration of 
her religion. Woman first lays her hand on our 
young powers. She plants the first seeds. She 
makes the first impressions ; and all along through 
life she scatters the good seed of the kingdom and 
Sprinkles the dews of her piety. But woman does 
KU'-not dp enough. Her power is not yet equal to its 
needl^''^' Her virtue is not mighty enough. Her relig- 
ion comes short in its work. Look out and see the 
world — a grand Pandora's box of wickedness — a 
great battle-field of clashing passions and warring 
interests — a far spread scene of sensualism and sel- 
fishness, in which woman herself acts a conspicuous 
u J^^ part. Look at society — the rich eating up the poor; 

/Op^\:^E*._.t|ie poor stabbing at the rich ; fashion playing in the 
^^)>-^v^^^ '^ 'halls of gilded sensualism; folly' dancing to the tune 
'^^^S of ignorant mirth ; intemperance gloating over its 
A roast beef, or whisky jug, brandy punch, champagne 

^ /■ bottle, bearing thousands upon thousands down to 

the grave of ignominy, sensualism, and drunkenness. 
§iL-J)' Ls there not a need of more vigorous virtue in 
,;P i womsLU ? Is there not a call for a more active religion, 

^^ '-; a more powerful impulse in behalf of morality ? Who 

shall heed this cry of wicked, wasting humanity, if 
the young woman does not? To youthful woman 
we must look for a powerful leader in the cause of 
morality and religion. The girls of to-day are to be 
greatly instrumental in giving a moral complexion to 
the society of to-morrow. It is important that they 




<^'...-<^ 



-=.-^ 






e 












586 



WELL DOING. 




should fix high this standard of virtue. They ought 
to lay well their foundations of religion. They ought 
early to baptize their souls in the consecrated waters 
of truth and right. 

The first element in their moral character which 
they should seek to establish firmly is purity. A 
pure heart is the fountain of life. "The pure in heart 
shall see God." Not only is purity of life needed to 
make a young woman beautiful and useful, but purity 
in thought, feeling, emotion, and motive. All within 
us that lies open to the gaze of God should be pure. 
A young woman should be in heart what she seems 
to be in life. Her words should correspond with her 
thoughts. The smile of her face should be the smile 
of her heart. The light of her eye should be the 
light of her soul. She should abhor deception ; she 
should loathe intrigue ; she should have a deep dis- 
gust of duplicity. Her life should be the outspoken 
language of her mind, the eloquent poem of her soul 
speaking in rhythmic beauties the intrinsic merit of 
inward purity. Purity antecedes all spiritual attain- 
ments and progress. It is the first and fundamental 
virtue in a good character ; it is the letter A in the 
moral alphabet ; it is the first step in the spiritual life ; 
it is the Alpha of the eternal state of soul which has 
no Omega. Whatever may be our mental attain- 
ments or social qualities, we are nothing without 
purity ; only ''tinkling cymbals." Our love is stained, 
our benevolence corrupted, our piety a pretense which 
God will not accept. An impure young woman is an 
awful sight. She outrages all just ideas of woman^ 



i 



i 



WELL DOING. 



587 



hood, all proper conceptions of spiritual beauty. To 
have evil imag-inings, corrupt longings, or deceitful 
propensities ought to startle any young woman. To 
feel a disposition to sensuality, a craving for the 
glitter of a worldly life, or a selfish ambition for 
unmerited distinction is dangerous in the extreme.' 
It is the exuding of impure waters from the heart. 
JVVfto feels such utterings within should beware. 
pThey are the whisperings of an evil spirit, the tempta- 
tions to sin and crime. If I could speak to all the 
young women in the world, I would strive to utter 
the intrinsic beauties and essential qualities of purity ; 
I would seek to illustrate it as the fountain of all that 
is great and good, all that is spiritually grand and 
redeeming-. There is no virtue, no spiritual life, no 
moral beauty, no glory of soul, nor dignity of char 
aciter without purity. 




^'\i 



The second virtue she should cultivate is^^^e^^^^-^^J 
lence. Queen of virtues, lovely star in the crown of 
life, bright and glorious image of Him who is love, 
how beautiful is it in woman's heart ! A woman 
without benevolence is not a woman ; she is only a 
deformed personality of womanhood. In every heart 
there are many tendencies to selfishness, but the spirit 
of benevolence counteracts them all. A hollow, cold, 
graceless, ungodly thing is a heart without benevo- 
lence. In a world like this, where we are all so needy 
and dependent, where our interests are so interlocked, 
where our lives and hearts overlap each other, and 
often grow together, we cannot live without a good 
degree of benevolence. Our true earth-life is a 




^-1 



/">: 




WELL 

benevolent one. Our highest interests are in the 
path of benevolence. We do most for ourselves 
when we do most for others. ''It is more blessed to 
give than to receive." Good deeds double in the 
doing, and the larger half comes back to the doer. 
The most benevolent soul lives nearest to God. A 
large heart of charity is a noble thing. Selfishness 
is the root of evil ; benevolence is its cure. In no 
heart is benevolence more beautiful than in youthful 
woman's. In no heart is selfishness more ugly. To 
do good is noble ; to be good is nobler. This should 
be the aim of all young women. The poor and needy 
should occupy a large place in their hearts. The sick 
and suffering should move upon their sympathies. 
The sinful and criminal should awaken their deepest 
pity. The oppressed and down-trodden should find 
a large place in their compassion. How blessed is 
woman on errands of mercy ! How sweet are her 
soothing words to the disconsolate ! How consoling 
her tears of sympathy to the mourning ! How fresh 
her spirit of hope to the discouraged ! How soft her 
hand to the sick ! How balmy the breath of her love 
to the oppressed ! Woman appears in one of her 
loveliest aspects when she appears as the practical 
follower of Him who "went about doing good." 
The young woman who does these works of practical 
benevolence is educating her moral powers in the 
school of earnest and glorious life. She is laying the 
foundations for a noble and useful womanhood. She 
is planting the seeds of a charity that will grow to 
bless and save the suffering of our fellow-men. In 








'#f:.(^; 








WELL DOING. 



589 






no other way can she so successfully cultivate the 
virtue of benevolence. It is not enough that she 
pity the sorrows of the poor and suffering. Her 
hand must be taught to heed the pleadings of her 
pitying heart. What she feels, she must do. What 
.she wishes, she must make an effort to accomplish. 
What she prays for, she must strive to attain. Ev^y-^i 
body predicts a beautiful life from a good-doing young 
woman::? 

7/ 

The third virtue which the young woman should 
cultivate is iiitegrity, or the sentime^it of duty. A 
German philosopher has poetically and truthfully said, 
"The two most beautiful things in the universe are 
the starry heavens above our heads and the sentiment 
of duty in the human soul." Few objects are richer 
for the contemplation of a truly high-minded man 
than a young woman who live^, acts, speaks, andu 
exerts her powers from an enlightened conviction of 
duty. In such women there is a mighty force of 
moral power. Though they may be gentle as the 
lamb, or retiring and modest in their demeanor, there 
is in them what commands respect, what enforces 
esteem. They are the strong women. The sun is 
not truer to his course than they to theirs. They are 
reliable as the everlasting rocks. Every day finds in 
them the same beautiful, steady, moral firmness. 
Men look to them with a confidence that knows no 
doubt. They are fearless and brave, they have but 
to know their duty to be ready to engage in It. 
Though men laugh or sneer, though the world frown, 
or threaten they will do It. There Is no bravado In 







9i 






590 



WELL DOING. 



them ; it is the simple power of integrity. They are 
true to what to them seems right. Such spirits are 
often the mildest and meekest we have. They are 
sweet as the flower while they are firm as the rock. 
We know them by their lives. They are consistent, 
simple-hearted, uniform and truthful. The word on 
the tongue is the exact speech of the heart. The 
expression they wear is the spirit they bear. Their 
parlor demeanor is their kitchen and closet manner. 
Their courtesy abroad is their politeness at home. 
Their confiding converse is such as the world may 
hear and respect them the more for it. Such are the 
women of integrity. 

The fourth virtue of inestimable value which the 
young woman should cultivate is piety. This may be 
regarded as the crown of all moral virtues. It is that 
which sanctifies the rest. It is a heavenly sun in the 
moral firmament, shedding a divine lustre through 
the soul — a balmy, hallowing light, sweeter than 
earth can give. Piety is the meek-eyed maid of 
heaven, that holds her sister Faith in one hand and 
Hope in the other, and looks upward with a confiding 
smile, saying, *'My treasure is above." Of all the 
influences wrought in the -human soul, the work of 
piety is the most harmonizing and divine. It subdues 
the flesh and the world, and calls down heaven to 
bless the happy pietist. It is the constant, ever- 
speaking voice of the Father uttering in sublime and 
beautiful impressions the holy eloquence of his ever- 
lasting love. It is the communing ground of the 
mortal child with the immortal Parent. In the mind 



of youthful woman it is as beautiful as it can be any- 
where. And when she consecrates all her powers 
by the laying on of its heavenly hands, and sanctifies 
all her feelings by its hallowed influences, she exhibits 
a view of beauty — of physical, moral, and spiritual 
beauty — not elsewhere surpassed on earth. A deep, 

pervading, all-controlling piety is the highest attain- 
^^"^£ man on earth. It is that reverent, humble, 
'eful, affectionate, and virtuous purity of spirit in 
which the human and divine meet and embrace each 
other. It is the spiritual crown which men put on 
when they go into the kingdom of heaven. This is 
what we urge as the last and finishing excellency 
of the youthful female character. The cultivation of 
this is what we press as conferring mortal perfection 
of character, or as great perfection as frail, sinful> 

"^creatures can put on below *'the mansion^V^fJ ^^ 
skies. 

We urge it as the best and highest duty of every 
young woman — a duty she owes to herself, her fel- 
lows, and her God — a duty as full of joys as the 
heavens are of stars, and when performed, reflecting 
matchless grace upon her soul. We do not urge it' 
through fear of hell or hope of heaven ; we do not 
urge it from motives of policy ; we urge it for its own 
intrinsic worth ; for the blessedness of being pious ; 
for the excellency and worth of character and life it 
confers. No character is complete till it is swayed 
and elevated by genuine piety. No heart is fully 
happy till it is imbued with the spirit of piety. No 
life is all it may and should be till its motives are bap- 













tized in the waters of piety. No soul is saved till it 
is transformed by the gracious spirit of this daughter 
of the skies. This divine grace of the soul should 
be sought by every young woman, and cultivated with 
the most assiduous care, for without it she is destitute 
of the highest beauty and divinest charm and power 
of womanhood. 



No snow falls lighter than the snow of age 

never melts." 



but none is heavier, for it 



The figure is by no means novel, but the closing 
part of the sentence is new as well as emphatic. The 
Scriptures represent age by the almond-tree, which 
bears blossoms of purest white. *'The almond-tree 
shall flourish," the head shall be hoary. Dickens 
says of one of his characters, whose hair was turning 
gray, that it looked as if Time had lightly splashed 
his snows upon it in passing. 

''It never melts" — no never. Age is inexorable. 
Its wheels must move onward; they know no retro- 
grade movement. The old man may sit and sing, ''I 
would I were a boy again," but he grows older as he 
sings. He may read of the elixir of youth, but he 
cannot find it; he may sigh for the secrets of that 
alchemy which is able to make him young again, but 
sighing brings it not. He may gaze backward with 
an eye of longing upon the rosy scenes of early 



cC: 



^' 



^ 



.^, 




,.*rw 




? 



years, as one wlio gazes on his home from the deck 
of a departing ship, which every moment carries him 
farther and farther away. Poor old man ! he has Httle 
more to do than die. 

"It never melts." The snow of winter comes and 
)^ sheds its white blessings upon the valley and the^^ 
}tm)uiitain^> bi^t ^^pon the sweet spring comes^j(n^/\^^^ 
X3^srnife|t|t;,^i=»^^#^^ so with that upon the browv 

of tlte^^tottering veteran. There is* no spring whose 
warmth can penetrate its eternal frost. It came to 
stay. Its single flakes fell unnoticed — and now it is 
drilled there. We shall see it increase until we lay 
the old man in his grave. There it shall be absorbed 
by the eternal darkness — for there is no age in 
heaven. 

The young, who all wish to live, but who at the ,^ ,^.:q^ 
same time have a dread of grawing' old, may- not be^ '"^^"^ 
disposed to allow the justice of the representation we 
are now to make. They regard old age as a dreary 
season, that admits of nothing which can be called 
pleasure, and very little which deserves the name even 
of comfort. They look forward to it, as in autumn 
we anticipate the approach of winter; but winter, 
though it terrifies us at a distance, has nothing very 
formidable when it arrives. Its enjoyments are of a 
different kind, but we find it not less pleasant than 
any other season of the year. 

In like manner old age, frightful as it may be to the 
young, who view it afar off, has no terror to them 
who see it near; but experience proves that it 
abounds with consolations, and even with delights. 

38 





We should look therefore with pleasure on many old 
men, whose illuminated faces and hoary heads resem- 
ble one of those pleasant days in winter, so common 
in this climate, when a bright sun darts its beams on 
a pure field of snow. The beauty of spring, the 
splendor of summer, and the glory of autumn are 
gone ; but the prospect is still lively and cheerful. 

Among other circumstances which contribute to 
the satisfaction of this period of life, is the respect 
with which old age is treated. There are, it must be 
acknowledged and lamented, some foolish and ill- 
educated young persons who do not pay that vener- 
tion which is due to the hoary head ; but these 
examples are not numerous. 

The world in general bows down to age, gives it 
precedence, and listens with deference to its opinions. 
Old age wants accommodations ; and it must in justice 
to man be allowed that they are afforded with cheer- 
fulness. Who can deny that such reverence is 
soothing to the human mind ? and that it compensates 
us for the loss of many pleasures which are peculiar 
to youth ? 

The respect of the world in general is gratifying; 
but the respect of a man's own offspring must yield 
heartfelt delight. Can there be a more pleasing 
sight, than a venerable old man surrounded by his 
children and grandchildren, all of whom are emulous 
of each other in testifying their homage and affec- 
tion? His children, proud of their honored father, 
strive who shall treat him with the most attention, 
while his grandchildren hang on his neck, entertain 



^iMT 



m 



595 



,....^i 



W, 







him with their innocent prattle, and convince him that 
they love their grandfather not less than they love 
their father. Whoever takes a little child into his 
love, may have a very roomy heart, but that child 
will fill it all. The children that are in the world 
keep us from growing old and cold ; they cling to 
our garments with their little hands, and impede our 
^ j^rogress to petrification ; they win us back with their 
I "^"pleading eyes from cruel care ; they never encumber 
us at all. A poor old couple, with no one to love 
them, is a most pitiful picture ; but a hovel with a 
small face to fill a broken pane, here and there, is 
robbed of its desolateness. A little thoughtful atten- 
tion, how happy it makes the old ! They have out- 
lived most of the friends of their early youth. How 
lonely their hours ! Often their partners in life have 
Iqng filled silent graves ; often their childrer^l/Sl 
i^have followed to the tomb. They stanq 

bending on their staff, waiting till the same call shall 
reach them. How often they must think of absent, 
lamented faces, of the love which cherished them, 
and the tears of sympathy which fell with theirs — 
now all gone. Why should not the young cling 
around and comfort them, cheering their gloom with 
happy smiles ? 

That old man ! what disappointments he has 
encountered in his long journey, what bright hopes 
blasted, what sorrows felt, what agonies endured, 
how many loved ones he has covered up in the grave. 
And that old woman, too ! husband dead, children all 
buried or far away, life's flowers faded, the friends of 








her youth no more, and she waiting to go soon. 
Ought we ever to miss an opportunity of showing 
attention to the aged, of proffering a kindness, or 
Hghting up a smile, by a courteous act or a friendly 
deed ? 

Why speak of age in a mournful strain? It is 
beautiful, honorable, eloquent. Should we sigh at 
the proximity of death, when life and the world are 
so full of emptiness ? Let the old exult because they 
are old. If* any must weep, let it be the young, at 
the long succession of cares that are before them. 
Welcome the snow, for it is the emblem of peace and 
of rest. It is but a temporal crown which shall fall 
at the gates of Paradise, to be replaced by a brighter 
and a better. 



■^•4t- 



-^^ 



No SEX is spared, no age exempt. The majestic 
and courtly roads which monarchs pass over, the way 
that the men of letters tread, the path the warrior 
traverses, the short and simple annals of the poor, all 
lead to the same place, all terminate, however varied 
in their routes, in that one enormous house which is 
appointed for all living. One short sentence closes 
the biography of every man, as if in a mockery of the 
unsubstantial pretensions of human pride, ''The days 
of the years of Methuselah were nine hundred and 
sixty-nine years, and he died." There is the end of 








DEATH. 

it. ''And he died." Such is the frailty of this 
boasted man. ''It is appointed unto men" — unto all 
men — "once to die." No matter what station of 
honor we hold, we are all subject to death. 

As in chess-play, so long as the game is playing, 
r^-^^^^ men stand in their order and are respected 
according to their places — first the king, then th<e!^\p 
^^ . queen, then the bishops, after them the knights, and ' 
f4^ last of all the common soldiers; but when once the 
i'p game is ended and the table taken away, then they 

^;^-' are all confusedly tumbled into a bag, and haply the 

king is lowest and the pawn upmost. Even so it is 
with us in this life ; the world is a huge theatre, o; 
stage, wherein some play the parts of kings, others 
of bishops, some lords, many knights, and others 
yeomen ; but death sends all alike to the grave and to 
the judgment. 

Death comes equally to us all and makes us all 
equal when it comes. The ashes of an oak in a 
chimney are no epitaph of that, to tell me how high 
or how large that was ; it tells me not what flocks it 
sheltered when it stood, nor what men it hurt when 
it fell. The dust of great men's graves is speechless 
too: it says nothing; it distinguishes nothing. "As 
soon the dust of a wretch whom thou wouldst not, 
as of a prince whom thou couldst not look upon, will 
trouble thine eyes if the wind blow it thither; and 
when a whirlwind hath blown the dust of a church- 
yard into a church, and the man sweeps out the 
dust of the church into the church-yard, who will 




,<^j:S 






r^^-S 



4 





y¥^ '^-^^ i-=^:S3^ 




DEATH. 



undertake to sift those dusts again and to pro- 
nounce: This is the patrician, this is the noble 
flower, and this is the yeoman, and this is plebeian 
bran?" 

Look at that hero, as he stands on an eminence 
and covered with glory. He falls suddenly, forever 
falls. His intercourse with the living world is now 
ended, and those who would hereafter find him must 
seek him in the grave. There, cold and lifeless, is 
the heart which just now was the seat of friendship ; 
there, dim and sightless, is the eye whose radiant and 
enlivening orb beamed with intelligence ; and there, 
closed forever, are those lips, on whose persuasive 
accents we have so often and so lately hung with 
transport. 

From the darkness which rests upon his tomb there 
proceeds, methinks, a light, in which it is clearly seen 
that those gaudy objects which men pursue are only 
phantoms. In this light, how dimly shines the splen- 
dor of victory — how humble appears the majesty of 
grandeur ! The bubble, which seemed to have so 
much solidity, has burst, and w^e again see that all 
below the sun is vanity. 

True, the funeral eulogy has been pronounced, the 
sad and solemn procession has moved, the badge of 
mourning has already been decreed, and presently 
the sculptured marble will lift up its front, proud to 
perpetuate the name of the hero and rehearse to the 
passing traveler his virtues — just tributes of respect, 
and to the livinof useful — but to him, molderine in his 



:}W^c{? 




DEATH. 




599 

How 




narrow and humble habitation, what are they? 
vain ! how unavailing ! 

Approach, and behold, while I lift from his sepul- 
chre its covering! Ye admirers of his greatness — 
ye emulous of his talents and his fame — approach 
and behold him now. How pale! how silent! No 
martial hands admire the adroitness of his movements; 
o fascinating throng weep, and melt, and tremble at 
eiaquence ! Amazing change ! A shroud, a 
n, a narrow, subterraneous cabin! — this is all 
that now remains of the hero ! And is this all that 
remains of him ? During a life so transitory, what 
lasting monument, then, can our fondest hopes erect! 

We stand on the borders of an awful gulf, which is 
swallowing up all things human. And is there, 
amidst this universal wreck, nothing stable, nothing 
abiding, nothing immortal, on which poor, frail. 
;^>hian can fasten ? Ask the hero, ask the statesman,' 
whose wisdom you have been accustomed to revere,^ 
and he will tell you. He will tell you, did we say? 
He has already told you, from his death-bed, and his 
illumined spirit still whispers from the heavens, with 
well-known eloquence, the solemn admonition : ''Mor- 
tals hastening to the tomb, and once the companions'^ 
of my pilgrimage, take warning and avoid my errors f 
cultivate the virtues I have recommended ; choose the 
Savior I have chosen ; live disinterestedly ; live for 
immortality; and would you rescue anything from 
final dissolution, lay it up in God." 

Ah, it is true that a few friends will go and bury us ; 



^<^.l 








rra\ 





DEATH 



affection will rear a stone and plant a few flowers over 
our grave ; in a brief period the little hillock will be 
smoothed down, and the stone will fall, and neither 
friend nor stranger will be concerned to ask which 
one of the forgotten millions of the earth was buried 
there. Every vestige that we ever lived upon the 
earth will have vanished away. All the little 
memorials of our remembrance — the lock of hair 
encased in gold, or the portrait that hung in our 
dwelling, will cease to have the slightest interest to 
any living being. 

We need but look into the cemetery and see the 
ten thousand upturned faces ; ten thousand breathless 
bosoms. There was a time when fire flashed through 
those vacant orbs ; when warm ambitions, hopes, joys 
and the loving life pushed in those bosoms. Dreams 
of fame and power once haunted those empty skulls. 
The little piles of bones, that once were feet, ran 
swiftly and determinedly through twenty, forty, sixty, 
seventy years of life, but where are the prints they 
left? He lived — he died — he was buried — is all 
that the headstone tells us. We move among the 
monu.ients, we see the sculpturing, but no voice 
comes to us to say that the sleepers are remembered 
for an), thing they have done. A generation passes 
by. The stones turn gray, and the man has ceased 
to be, and is to the world, as if he had never 
lived. 

Thus is life. Only a few years do we journey here 
and we come to that bridge— -Death — which trans- 










DEATH 



\~Sy ^'^— 



%m 



\S.r 



ports us as the road we have traveled, either virtue, 

happiness and joy, to a happy paradise of love, or 

the road of passion, lust and vice to destructive 

wretchedness. 

A proper view of death may be useful to abate 

most of the irregular passions. Thus, for instance, 

. wenjay'see what avarice comes to in the coffin of the^ 

'itti^er; this is the ^gian who could never be satrsfied 

^with riches; but see now a few boards inclose him, 

and a few square inches contain him. Study ambition 

in the grave of that enterprising man ; see, his great 

designs, his boundless expedients are all shattered 

and sunk in this fatal gulf of all human projects. 

Approach the tomb of the proud man ; see the 

haughty countenance dreadfully disfigured, and the 

tongue that spoke the most lofty things condemned to 

eternal silence. Go to the tomb of the monarch, and 

•ft-,-- 

there study quality ; behold his great titles, his royal 
robes, and all his flatteries --all are no more forever 
in this world. Behold the c<?nsequence of intemper- 
ance in the tomb of the glutton ; see his appetite now 
fully satiated, his senses destroyed and his bones 
scattered. Thus the tombs of the wicked condemn 
their practice and strongly recommend virtue. 

Death reigns in all the portions of cur time. The 
autumn, with Its fruits, provides disorders for us, and 
the winter's cold turns them into sharp dii^eases ; and 
the spring brings flowers to strew our hearse ; and the 
summer gives green turf and brambles to bind upon 
our graves. Calentures and surfeit, cold and agues 



Y'-^./ 



W) 




fW 



m 








are the four quarters of the year, and all minister untc 
death. Go where you will and it will find you. Many 
dread it and try to flee from it as the king- of terrors. 

Is he an enemy, when God sends him to deliver us 
from pains, follies, disappointments, miseries and wo ? 
Is he an enemy, who transfers us from delusive 
dreams, from the region of bubbles and corroding 
cares, to a region where all is pure, substantial, 
enduring joy and endless felicity ? It Is a libel on 
DEATH to call him our foe, a king of terrors, an 
enemy. 

Frail man comes into the world crying, cries on 
through life, and Is always seeking after some desired 
thing which he imagines is labeled happiness, or Is 
mourning over some loss, which makes him miserable ; 
a restless mortal body, with an immortal soul, that 
requires something more than earth can give to satisfy 
its lofty desires ; the soul that hails death as the wel- 
come messenger, to deliver it from its ever changing, 
ever decaying prison-house of clay, called man ; on 
which time wages a perpetual war; whitening his 
locks, furrowing his cheeks, stealing his ivory, weak- 
ening his nerves, paralyzing his muscles, poisoning 
his blood, battering his whole citadel, deranging the 
whole machinery of life, and wasting his mental 
powers ; until he becomes twice a child ; and then 
delivers him over to his last and best friend, death, 
who breaks the carnal bondage, sets the imprisoned 
spirit free, closing a toilsome career of infelicity ; 
opening the door of immortal happiness, returning 



i 




DEATH. 



the soul to its own, original, and glorious home ; to 
go no more out forever. Not to become familiar 
with death, is to endure much unnecessary fear, and 
add to the myriads of the other imaginary woes of 
human life. 

Death to them that be God's dear children is no 
other thing than the despatcher of all displeasure, 
=i the QtiA q{ all travail, the door of desires, the gate of 
gladness, the port of paradise, the haven of heaven, 
the entrance to felicity, the beginning of all blissful- 
ness. It is the very bed of down for the doleful 
bodies of God's people to rest in, out of which they 
rise and awake most fresh and lusty to everlasting 
life. It is a passage to the Father, a chariot to 
heaven, the Lord's messenger, a going to our home, 
a deliverance from bondage, a dismission from jwar, 
fS security from all sorrows, and a manumission from^ll^ 
all misery. And should we be dismayed at it? 
Should we trouble to hear of it? Should such a 
friend as it be unwelcome? Death is but life to a 
true believer ; it is not his last day, nor his worst day, 
but in the highest sense his best day, and the begin- 
ning of his better life. A Christian's dying day will 
be his enlarging day, when he shall be freed from the 
prison in which he has long been detained, and be 
brought home to his Father's house. A Christian's 
dying day will be his resting day, when he shall rest 
from all sin and care and trouble ; his reaping day, 
when he shall reap the fruit he has sown in tears and 
faith ; his conquering day, when he shall triumph over 








DEATH. 

every enemy, and even death itself shall die ; his 
transplanting day, from earth to heaven, from a 
howling wilderness to a heavenly paradise ; his robing 
day, to put off the old worn out rags of flesh, and 
put on the new and glorious robes of light ; his 
marriage day ; his coronation day ; the day of his 
glory, the beginning of his eternal, perfect bliss with 
Christ. - 

We at death leave one place to go to another; if 
godly we depart from our place here on earth, and go 
to heaven ; we depart from our friends on earth and 
go to our friends in heaven ; we depart from the valley 
of tears and go to the mount of joy ; we depart from 
a howling wilderness and go to a heavenly paradise. 
Who would be unwilling to exchange a Sodom for a 
Zion, an Egypt for a Canaan, misery for glory? 

What a superlatively grand and consoling idea is 
that of death ! Without this radiant idea, this delight- 
ful morning star, indicating that the luminary of eter- 
nity is going to rise, life would, to our view, darken 
into midnight melancholy. Oh, the expectation of 
living here, and of living thus always, would be 
indeed a prospect of overwhelming despair ! But 
thanks be to that fatal decree that dooms us to die ! 
thanks to that gospel which opens the vision of an 
endless life ! and thanks, above all, to that Savior 
friend who has promised to conduct all the faithful 
through the sacred trance of death, into scenes of 
paradise and everlasting delight ! 

Oh, that all may be prepared for this awful change. 





n 






\ 



In 
I* 









_^ 




'^•/ but how often we hear the mournful exclamation, 

- ^- '* Too late !" from men who come up to the doors of a 

■ ' ^ bank just as the key has turned in the lock ; or up to 

^5' the great gates of a railway terminus just as they 

^, swing to, and tell the tardy traveler he has lost his 

'o^^^hjCrJ^^^'' ^^ "P ^o ^^^ post-office just as the mail has 
N&^^J.M^lj^en d.espatched; but how should he tremble if ;q;ufcr 
c^W^v< ears could hear th?e^espairing cry of souls whom th&^ 
stony gaze of that grim messenger has fixed in sin 
forever. How would our hearts thrill with horror to 
accompany one, without hope of heaven, to the por- 
tals of death. How do men dread such death scenes 
as that of a young skeptic called suddenly from time 
to eternity. ''Begone!" he cried to the clergyman; 
I want none of your ca7it,'' when he showed him the 
great need of repentance. ''I am not going to die ; 
'-^"^and if I were I would die as I have lived." The 







sician came, to whom he said: "©hTl'tell me Pa 
not dying; I will not die!" ''My poor friend, I can- 
not speak falsely to you ; your soul will, ere long, be 
with your God." ''My God!" he said, "I have no 
God s,ave the world ; I have stifled conviction, I have 
fought against God, I have resisted my mother's 
pleadings, and now you tell me that I must die. Do 
you know," he added, in an awful whisper, "all that 
means? If I die to-day I shall go to hell! Take it 
back; tell me I'm not going to die. Father," he 
said, "t'was you who taught me this; you led me on 
in this way, and now you say I'm to die. Stand 
back!" he shrieked; '' I will not die f' and a torrent 




^1 



\ 
m 





of invectives issued from his fever-parched Hps, so 
terrible in their madness that it seemed Hke a wail 
from the sea of woe. No wonder the poor mother 
was borne fainting from the room, and the father's 
brow was corrugated, while great drops of agony 
rested there. Ah, that infidel father ! how must his 
heart have bled in that dreadful hour, when in the 
midst of dire cursings, his gifted son fell back a 
corpse. 

What a striking contrast between such a death and 
the following: 

One of Martin Luther's children lay on her death 
bed; the great man approached her and said to her: 
*/ My little daughter, my beloved Margaret, you would 
willingly remain with your earthly parents, but if God 
calls you, you will go with your heavenly Father." 
**Yes, dear father, it is as God pleases." He then 
said : " My daughter, enter thou into thy resting place 
in peace." She turned her eyes toward him and said, 
with touching simplicity, '' Yes, father." How resign- 
edly could the believing Luther part with his dying 
child, and methinks the sentiment of his heart was 
very like the inscription on a child's tombstone in an 
English churchyard, as follows: '''Who plucked that 
flower?' cried the gardener, as he walked through 
the garden. His fellow servant answered, 'The 
Master.' And the gardener held his peace." 

When these hands of ours shall be pulseless and 
cold, and motionless as the grave wherein they must 
lie; when the damp, dewy vapors shall replace "this 



W 



/"vl 



I m 



A 




DEATH. 

sensible, warm motion," and death shall spread our 
couch and weave our shrouds ; when the winding- 
sheet shall be our sole vesture, and the close-sealed 
sepulchre our only home, and we shall have no 
familiar companions, and no rejoicing friends but the 
worm ; O, thou cold hand of death, unlock for us then 
the portals of eternal life, that whilst our bodies rest 
ill their beds of earth, our souls may recline in the 
0m of^God ! 



'Life! we've been long together, 
Through pleasant and cloudy weather ; 
'Tis hard to part when friends are dear ; 
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear ; 
Then steal away, give little warning, 
Choose thine own time ; 

Say not, Good night, but in some brighter clime 
Bid us good morning." 






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